Please Kill Me - Chapter 22
“If your father decides to send me back to my family, what will I do? Yekaterina was doing just fine until suddenly she caused all this trouble! Why did she suddenly rebel against your father?”
With Yekaterina now missing, Ludmila nervously muttered, fearing the consequences if Yekaterina wasn’t found. It was only then that Dmitry understood why his mother had sought him out.
Since Sergei highly values his only son, she probably wanted him to smooth things over regarding Yekaterina’s situation. She was also likely hoping he would help find Yekaterina.
Typically feeble as always. Even in the face of an unprecedented crisis, the best she could do was to reach out to her son. Dmitry’s gaze on Ludmila was icy.
‘You can’t do anything on your own, can you?’
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have bothered. But fortunately for Ludmila, this time was different because it involved Yekaterina.
The young man comforted his mother masked in gentleness.
“Mother, I’ll speak to Father for you. I’ll also look into the situation with Sister, so you just rest.”
“Will, will you? I feel so reassured with you here…”
“Of course. Don’t worry too much. I don’t want you or Sister to be in trouble either.”
Dmitry tenderly embraced Ludmila’s shoulder to comfort her before ushering her out. Her soft, frail figure disappeared just as naturally as it had entered.
Click. The door closed and the young man’s lips parted slightly.
“Ivan.”
“Yes.”
At the light summons, a man hidden in the shadows bowed in response.
“Arrange for assassins tonight. We need to find my sister.”
“Shall we dispatch from Offenbach?”
“No, select from under your command. Choose discreetly so that no one notices.”
It was crucial for Dmitry to secure his sister’s safety before his father.
Dmitry’s voice as he added this carried a current of obsession.
Ivan responded with silence. The man once again vanished into the shadows.
* * *
Meanwhile, at the Rostislav residence.
Clang! The sound of utensils clashing against the floor was loud.
The noise came from Yekaterina’s side, briefly filling the silent, sparsely seated dining table.
It was Leonid who broke the quiet.
“If there’s a problem, wouldn’t it be better to talk about it?”
“It was a mistake.”
“Quite a noisy mistake. Don’t you like the food?”
“No, it’s delicious.”
Yekaterina replied curtly, accepting a new set of utensils from the standing servant and continued her meal.
To an observer, her brief response might seem evasive, but no one present doubted her words.
The reason was simple: Yekaterina was eating her meal with great enthusiasm.
The guest, who had been seated for dinner, actively savored every dish on the table, enough to provoke the appetite of onlookers. The previously lifeless and unresponsive demeanor had long vanished.
This change made Leonid feel a bit peculiar.
‘She came here to die.’
Yet so passionate about the meal?’
It was somewhat amusing that the one who had been indifferent to everything, even to anger, became disarmed in front of delicious food.
Leonid pushed a dish of duck marinated in sauce towards Yekaterina and initiated a conversation.
“Don’t you use a sword? A swordsman shouldn’t have slippery hands too often.”
“I don’t usually have slippery hands.”
“Then why?”
“Just have something on my mind.”
Yekaterina extended her fork to the other side of the dish Leonid had pushed towards her.
A cherry tomato was neatly skewered at the end of the fork.
“Some people eat tomatoes but avoid cherry tomatoes.”
“An interesting palate.”
“It’s the heir of Offenbach.”
“Odd palate indeed. Eats tomatoes but not cherry tomatoes? Why?”
“He hates the feeling of them bursting in his mouth.”
Yekaterina said this while popping the skewered cherry tomato into her mouth.
Then, she began to slice the meat dish Leonid had pushed towards her into bite-sized pieces. Her handling of the cutlery was not very skilled, so it was slightly irritating.
The table was adorned with a lavish banquet. The main dishes included baked duck marinated in sauce, cod carefully grilled to avoid crumbling the flesh, and lamb rib steak that sliced smoothly with a knife.
Surrounding these were roasted cherry tomatoes, which the heir of Offenbach disliked, along with a variety of fresh vegetables either roasted or raw, mixed in sauce. From the consommé soup with parsley, warm steam still rose.
Starting with the scallop appetizer, which she elegantly devoured, Yekaterina was now enjoying her meal with the most vitality Leonid had ever seen from her.
Leonid sipped his wine, observing Yekaterina’s demeanor.
It was more of a scrutinizing gaze than simply watching.
