Unveiled (Page 112)

I follow on, not even flinching or objecting when I feel an arm settle around my shoulders. I look to see Gracie gazing down at me. ‘He’s going to be fine, Olivia.’

‘Of course he is.’ I smile and let her lead me down the stairs behind William as he escorts the Special One away from this sinister place, but as we get to the front hall, my contentment wavers. I see Charlie propped up against the wall outside his office. He’s beaten to a pulp, and when one of his men turns to us with a sneer on his face, my contentment slips away completely.

This isn’t over – not by a long shot.

I glance to William and Miller, but neither look fazed.

‘Evening.’ The gruff voice doesn’t come from William or Miller or any one of the mean slimeballs flanking Charlie.

Every set of eyes in the room divert to the doors, the atmosphere thickening further. There’s a beast of a man filling the doorway. Huge. He’s silver-haired, the skin of his face pitted. ‘You broke our deal, Charlie.’

The Russian.

I look to Gracie when she settles a shaky hand on my arm, seeing her eyes centred on the ominous being holding everyone’s attention.

The unease that creeps over Charlie and his men is visible. I can feel it.

‘I’m sure we can renegotiate, Vladimir.’ Charlie tries to laugh but it comes out more like a wheeze.

‘A deal is a deal.’ He smiles, just as he’s joined by an army of men, all suited, all as large as Vladimir and all focused on Charlie.

It’s quiet.

Charlie’s men step away from their boss, leaving him unprotected prey.

Then all hell breaks loose.

William yells and makes a grab for Miller, who’s now charging at Charlie, murder etched on every piece of his face. No one will stop him. All of Charlie’s men move farther away, clearing the path, giving Miller clear access to the immoral bastard.

I display no shock or worry. Not even when Miller lifts Charlie from his feet by his neck and slams him into the wall, so hard I think the plaster could have cracked behind him. Charlie is showing no fear or shock, his face straight, but that evil glint has disappeared. He expected this.

‘See this?’ Miller asks, his voice low and dripping with violence, running a finger along the scar on Charlie’s cheek, all the way down to the corner of his mouth. ‘I’m going to get them to complete this Chelsea smile before they kill you.’ He jerks Charlie against the wall, slamming him harder into the plaster. A loud clatter resonates around the hall when a picture jumps off the wall and hits the floor as a result of the vibrations. Yet I still don’t move a muscle and Charlie remains straight-faced, taking what Miller is giving. He has no fight in him. He’s defeated. ‘Slowly,’ Miller whispers.

‘I’ll see you in hell, Hart,’ Charlie sneers.

‘Been there.’ Miller slams him one last, extra powerful time for good measure before dropping his hold. The evil bastard slides down the wall, looking weak and pathetic, while Miller makes an extra-long, precise job of straightening out his suit. ‘As much as I’d love the pleasure of killing you myself, our Russian friend here is an expert.’ He steps forward, towering over Charlie’s slumped body, and draws a long, filthy-sounding cough. He stares at him for a brief moment before spitting what he’s collected in his mouth right in Charlie’s face. ‘And he’ll make sure there’s nothing left to identify. Goodbye, Charlie.’ He turns and strides out, keeping his eyes focused forward, ignoring all of the quiet observers, including me. ‘Make it painful,’ he says as he passes Vladimir.

The Russian smiles darkly. ‘With the greatest of pleasure.’

I’m suddenly on the move, courtesy of Gracie guiding me, looking over my shoulder as Charlie slips all over the floor, trying to get up. I feel nothing . . . until I find William and see him studying Charlie’s pathetic form. They both gaze at each other for a long, silent while. It’s William who breaks the connection when he eventually looks to Vladimir, nodding mildly. Sadly.

Then he starts to follow us out.

And I have to reason with myself not to stay and watch.

William’s driver greets me with a tip of his hat and a warm smile, opening the door for me. ‘Thank you.’ I nod, sliding into the backseat. I watch for a few moments through the window as William and Miller talk. Or William talks. Miller is just listening, looking down at his feet, nodding every now and then. Every curious part of my brain wants to roll the window down and listen, but my curiosity transforms into panic when I allow the newsflashes of earlier to settle. In the space of a day, I suddenly have a mum and a dad. Miller doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that William Anderson is my father, and something tells me he’s going to be even more shocked than I am.

I’m out of the car in a split second, joining them on the pavement. Both men look to me, Miller on a frown, William with a knowing, almost smug, smile. He’s going to enjoy this. I know he is. I could think for years about the best way to word this and still be clueless. There’s no right way. There’s nothing that’s going to lessen the shock. Miller’s still regarding me closely a few moments later when I still haven’t spoken, so I draw the biggest breath I’m ever likely to and gesture towards . . . my father. ‘Miller, meet my dad.’

He doesn’t give me anything. His face has fallen into complete blankness. Poker-faced. Straight. The most impassive expression I’ve ever seen on him. All this time I’ve spent learning how to read him and deciphering his moods, and now I’m lost. I begin worrying my ring on my finger, shifting under his blank face, and I look to William to gauge his mood. His smugness is now full-on amusement.