Page 34 of Christmas at Wolf Creek

“Okay, puzzle master,” she says gently to Nora, “time for bed. You can work on opening that tomorrow.”

“But I’m close!” Nora protests, though her eyelids are drooping. “I can feel it.”

“The puzzle will still be there in the morning,” Ella promises, taking it gently from her hands. “Say goodnight to everyone.”

Nora makes her rounds, hugging each of us tightly. When she gets to me, she whispers, “Thank you for my puzzle. I’m going to find the secret tomorrow.”

“I know you will,” I whisper back, squeezing her petite frame. “Sweet dreams, squirt.”

As Ella leads her upstairs, the warmth seems to leave the room with them. We sit in tense silence, waiting for the conversation none of us want to have but all know is necessary.

I find myself staring at the Christmas tree, at the small glass star Ella said they made during their first Christmas here. How many Christmases has she spent looking over her shoulder? How many moments of joy have been shadowed by fear?

Whatever secrets Ella’s been keeping, whatever happened in St. Petersburg, I’m suddenly sure of one thing: we can’t let her face it alone anymore. Not when she finally has a family to stand with her.

The sound of Ella’s footsteps returning down the stairs breaks the silence. It’s time for the truth.

Chapter 16

Ella

Iclose the door to Nora’s room gently, pausing for a moment to watch her steady breathing. The puzzle box from Rory sits on her nightstand, waiting for tomorrow’s determined little fingers. My heart aches with love for her, with the fierce protectiveness that has driven every decision I’ve made for the past eight years.

As I descend the stairs, the hush that falls over the great room is immediate and telling. They’re all there, arranged in a loose semicircle around the fire, faces illuminated by the dancing flames and the twinklinglights of the Christmas tree. The festive scene is at odds with the gravity that weighs down the air.

“Ella,” Declan says, rising from his chair. “We need to talk.”

My body tenses instantly, adrenaline flooding my system. I’ve had nightmares that start exactly like this—being cornered, nowhere to run. “About what?”

“About Mikhail Petrova,” he says, and my world tilts sideways.

I grab the banister to steady myself, my knuckles going white. “What about him?” My voice sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else.

“I received a call last night,” Declan continues, his voice measured, careful. “From Russia. Someone who knows you’re here. Who knows about Nora?”

The room spins slightly. This is happening too fast. “That’s impossible,” I whisper, but even as I say it, I remember the figure at the tree lighting, the familiar silhouette that sent ice through my veins.

“Please,” Kane says, gesturing to an empty chair. “Sit. We just want to understand what we’re dealing with.”

I move to the chair mechanically, perching on its edge, ready to bolt—fight or flight. My instinct is always to flee when Nora’s safety is concerned.

“What exactly was Mikhail to you?” Declan asks, his eyes never leaving mine. “And where was his last known whereabouts?”

I stare into the fire, watching the flames consume a log. It crackles and spits, reminding me of another fire, another time. The weight of eight years of secrets presses on my chest.

“He’s dead,” I say flatly. “His yacht exploded off the coast of Cyprus eight years ago. There was nothing left to recover.”

“You sound very certain for someone who just looked like they saw a ghost,” Lana observes quietly.

I take a deep breath, looking up to meet their expectant faces. These people—my family—deserve the truth—or at least as much of it as I can bear to tell.

“Mikhail and I met when I was twenty-six,” I begin, the words feeling strange after so many years of silence. “I’d been living in that remote cottage in Ireland since I was three. Tomas had hidden me there after my mother died, with a rotating staff of nannies and tutors. I barely knew who he was—just a man who visited occasionally, bringing gifts and speaking of dangers I didn’t understand.”

“Jesus,” Rory mutters. “He kept you isolated during your entire childhood?”

I nod. “He said it was to protect me from my stepfather, Alexei Petrova. Apparently, after he discovered my mother’s affair with Tomas, he wanted revenge. Wanted control of the MacGallan fortune through me.”

“How?” Wren asks.