Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
EDIE
I’m curled up in my favorite chair in the study commons on the seventh floor of our residence hall that night, trying to focus.
Not easy when a mafia kingpin might summon me for sex at any given moment.
Sex . That one word seems too small and limited for what happened between us.
My mind spins with the image of him naked, strong and proud, prowling over me like a lion. The feel of lying on that bed, masturbating at his command.
How quickly he made me into a depraved person who likes wrong and twisted things.
I tell myself that woman wasn’t me once and for all, and I focus on pulling together resources for the paper that I stupidly declared I’d write.
The paper is titled “The Evolution of Byzantine Iconography in the 11th and 12th Centuries : New Themes, Styles, and Influences,” but Odetta and I call it “Iconic Regret” because it’s been such a bear to research.
I find myself in a dead end with too narrow of a search term, so I tweak it and try again.
The commons area is an enforced quiet space with lots of overstuffed couches, tables, and homey lamps on side tables. Ruffles of colorful flyers adorn the row of bulletin boards along one wall, advertising jobs, clubs, services, and room shares.
What if Luka figures out where I am without geolocation? While a hooker college student isn’t impossible, his guys would only have to interview a few of my friends to know that this isn’t something I’d ever do. How long would it take him to figure out that I was planted by the police?
I remind myself he could have no idea I’m a college student. And that he hasn’t texted yet. I organize my highlighted material, like that will help the chaos of my life right now, and, of course, that’s when he texts.
I don’t notice it at first; my Luka phone is on vibrate only. But then I get a call on my normal phone, which I do notice.
It’s “Brenda,” a.k.a. Bender.
My heart starts pounding. What does he want? Is something going on with my sister? I pull out my earbuds and answer. “Yeah?”
“You gonna text him back anytime soon?”
“Oh. He texted?”
“ He texted ? Yeah, he texted. He wants to see you tonight.”
“I had my earbuds in.”
“He texted twice.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck .
“Hold on.” I put my phone down and pull the burner phone out of the zipper pouch, and sure enough, new texts.
One text is from an hour ago. It’s a Bronx address and a string of commands.
11PM tonight. Dress nice. Wait outside.
The other text is from five minutes ago, and it’s a repeat of the first message with the words “ confirm receipt.”
“I see it,” I say, gripping my phone, lost in a whirlwind of emotions.
“Are you planning on texting back? You want him to come looking for you?”
I set the phone down even as Bender’s tinny voice goes on. I need to concentrate on what to say to Luka. I decide on short and sweet.
Got it. CU then.
I pick up Bender again, pulse racing. “Done.”
“That’s an Albanian restaurant. How are you getting there?”
“Uber, I guess.”
“Hail a cab and pay cash. Have the cabbie drop you at the Concourse station. Wait for him to leave and walk a few blocks to get another cab to drop you two blocks from the restaurant. And pay with cash. Got something nice to wear?”
“I’ll have to see...”
“If you don’t have anything, reuse the dress we set you up with.”
“Okay.” I don’t tell him it’s ruined.
“I don’t have to tell you how important this is—for both of us. And your sister.”
Was that a warning?
I swallow back the dryness in my mouth. “I got it.”
“Keep your ears open like you did last time,” Bender says. “You did real well, and he has no idea, or he wouldn’t be calling you, okay?”
“But... wouldn’t he be just as likely to summon me if he got suspicious? To see who I’m working for?”
Bender laughs. “You’ve been watching too many movies. That’s not how it works. Now, in addition to keeping your ears open for any and all names, dates, and places, what is the specific critical information you’re going to try to get?”
“I’m supposed to figure out where he’s been all these years and find out why he killed his brother.”
“Not just why he killed him, but why he killed him the way he killed him. Get any of that intel, and you’ll have a lot of goodwill from me. A lot .”
“What if he wants me to turn on geolocation?”
“You handled it perfectly before—it wasn’t the deal you made. Guys like him don’t beg and wheedle. If he didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be there.”
“So you say.”
“Though he may have you followed. Simply out of curiosity, if nothing else.”
“What?”
Bender goes on to give me instructions on how to lose a tail on my return home—like it’s no big deal. “Change your pace, use reflections, make sudden turns, enter crowded places, use public transport, get off at the last second...”
My head is spinning by the time we hang up. How is this my life right now? Eleven at night is usually when I’m reading in bed, if not sleeping, but the Lukas of the world start their day at night, I guess.
I go back to work, reviewing my highlighted stuff, but the words swim senselessly in front of my eyes.
Will I get sucked into his whole dark depraved vortex again where I was panting for him like a dog in heat? It was wrong, so deeply wrong. Panting for a killer. Coming for a killer. Desperate for him to pull my hair and all the rest.
So wrong.
If only he’d lost interest. I could keep the money, and Bender would still have to help me with Mary because I did my part.
It’s here I get a new idea: Could I make Luka lose interest in me?
He liked it when I seemed prim and angry. When I looked at him with scorn. Don’t act like you like it, he said .
So... what if I went with the opposite? What if I acted infatuated with him instead of hating him? What if I were to smile sweetly instead of frowning and glaring?
The more I think about it, the more I think that this could be the key. Luka loved when I turned on the whole haughty thing.
I’ll be a pliable playmate. Unopinionated. Happy to oblige.
Could I pull it off? Of course!
Maybe then he’d decide I was a bad investment and move on.
And Bender won’t be able to do anything about it because Luka would have rejected me.
He’d still have to help me with my sister because I did everything he asked, didn’t I?
I just have to act nice. Bland. Obsequious. I can do that.
Dress nice.
Did he like the sexy red dress? Well, then, I’ll find the opposite of that.
An hour later, I’m window shopping on the Upper West Side.
I stop at a vintage store with a pale pink dress in the window—so pale, it’s nearly pearl, with a tiny stitch detail along the bodice.
Odetta always teases me that my favorite color is pastel.
Like that’s a bad thing. I love the calm serenity of pastels.
The elegance of pale salmon. Buttercream.
Light blue. And this pale pink is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
It’s quiet. Simple, with a small collar.
Maybe even a bit prim and not at all sexy.
This is not a dress to be lusted over or even noticed in. How much would Luka hate it?
I grin. He said to wear something nice, and this counts as that.
I go in and try it on with kitten heels. I put my hair in a ponytail and walk out to check the mirror. A shiver runs through me.
It’s the perfect Edie dress. And he’ll so hate it.