Chapter Two
LUCIA
When Ivan returns me to my rooms later that afternoon, I know something is different.
A long black evening gown hangs from a hook outside my bathroom.
The satin catches the fading sunlight, gleaming like spilled oil. The back plunges almost to the waist, and the slit up one side would expose most of my thigh.
I stop in the middle of the room.
My stomach drops.
“There’s a dinner tonight?”
Ivan nods.
“We leave at eight.”
He walks past me and begins his usual inspection.
He checks the bathroom first, pushing aside the shower curtain and looking behind the door. Then he runs his fingers along the tops of the windows and tests each lock.
I wait beside the bed.
The routine never changes. Ivan searches the rooms every time I return, though no one could enter without passing half a dozen cameras and at least one armed guard.
Once he’s satisfied, he opens the door leading to the narrow hall between our rooms. His bathroom and closet sit on one side. The locked door to his bedroom is at the other end.
“Stay here.”
He steps into the hall and closes my door behind him.
The lock slides into place with a solid metallic scrape.
I remain exactly where he left me.
A few moments later, the connecting door unlocks and Ivan reappears from his side.
“All clear.”
“Okay.”
“Lock this door.” He taps the frame.
He disappears into his room.
I close the connecting door and turn the lock as instructed.
Silence settles around me.
The rooms are too large to feel comforting and too carefully furnished to feel like mine. Everything appears to be in its proper place, but I check anyway.
The kitchen knife I stole is still taped beneath the cherrywood nightstand beside my four-poster bed. I run my fingers along the handle, then press it firmly against the wood again.
I kick off my sandals near the door. The thick cream carpet muffles my footsteps as I cross to the bathroom.
Kneeling beside the toilet, I lift the tank lid and reach behind the black float.
The plastic bag is still taped there.
I exhale.
Inside is a hundred and forty dollars.
It isn’t much, but it has taken me two years to collect. A twenty slipped from Viktor’s coat. A few bills left unattended after dinner. Change Galina pretended not to notice missing from the household money.
A hundred and forty dollars and a stolen knife.
That is the grand total of my escape plan.
I replace the tank lid and return to the bedroom.
The walls are painted a soft cream. Blush-pink pillows cover the bed, and matching curtains frame the sliding glass doors. A delicate vanity occupies one corner, its drawers filled with cosmetics someone else selected. Every detail was chosen for me.
The room is feminine, expensive, and completely impersonal.
I sink into the overstuffed chair beside the window.
Two stories below, the private courtyard sits empty in the afternoon light. Through the glass, I can see the wall I studied earlier.
The balcony lies just beyond the sliding doors, but I’m not allowed outside. A narrow strip of stone I can see but never stand on.
Instead, I stare through the bars of the wrought-iron railing.
Another dinner.
Another expensive dress.
Another group of men looking me over while pretending not to.
I turn toward the black satin hanging beside the bathroom.
Whatever Viktor has planned for me, it’s getting closer.
I spend exactly enough time on my appearance that he can’t accuse me of disrespect.
No more.
I comb out my dark hair and leave it loose in long waves. My makeup is simple, with most of the attention on my lashes and lips.
The dress is little more than a long satin slip. The back is too low for a bra, and the narrow straps feel fragile against my shoulders. When I walk, the slit parts over my leg.
The woman in the mirror looks older than the one who sat in the courtyard this afternoon. More sophisticated. More willing.
The illusion makes me feel sick.
I put on the four-inch heels Viktor provided and tuck my lipstick and compact into a small black clutch.
At seven fifty-five, the electronic lock beeps.
I’m already waiting.
Ivan opens the door.
“Let’s go.”
His gaze moves over me once, checking the dress, the shoes, the exposed skin.
Not admiring.
Assessing.
Leaving the house is a choreographed exercise in security. Men move ahead of us through the hallways. Doors open before we reach them and close behind us. One vehicle pulls around while another waits at the curb.
I’m escorted into the back of a black SUV.
Viktor is already inside.
He sits with one hand resting on his knee, perfectly at ease in the center of all that security. His dark suit is tailored closely enough that it never wrinkles when he moves. Silver threads the hair at his temples, though nothing else about him has softened with age.
He gives me a brief appraisal as I settle beside him.
“The dress suits you.”
I say nothing.
The vehicle pulls away from the curb, followed closely by the second SUV. I watch Beacon Hill slide past through the tinted window.
Outside, Boston is irritated with its own traffic. Horns blare. Tires squeal. A cyclist shouts at a driver through an open window.
Inside the SUV, everything is silent.
“You’ll be on your best behavior,” Viktor says.
“Of course.”
“This man is an important business associate.”
I nod.
“He likes his women beautiful and silent.”
The words leave something filthy on my skin.
I turn toward the window.
Viktor mistakes my silence for obedience and adjusts his cuffs. The silver links catch the passing streetlights.
When we arrive at the restaurant, the security detail spreads across the sidewalk before the SUV has fully stopped.
Viktor steps out first. He straightens his jacket and walks toward the entrance without looking back.
Ivan is waiting when I emerge. I place my hand in his and step carefully onto the sidewalk.
The restaurant has a black windowpane fa?ade with VESUVIO written in gold above the entrance. Warm amber light glows behind the glass. Inside, white tablecloths and wineglasses shine beneath low brass fixtures. Several people seated near the windows glance up as Viktor’s men take their positions.
“What is this place?” I ask.
Ivan takes my arm.
“Neutral territory.”
The staff barely react when our security detail sweeps through the restaurant. It must happen often enough that armed men no longer qualify as unusual.
The air smells of garlic, wine, and bread still warm from the oven. Conversation surrounds us, but it softens as we pass. People lower their eyes to their plates and pretend not to count the men carrying guns.
We pass through a second set of doors into a private dining room.
A table has been set for four.
Three seats are occupied.
Viktor is already deep in conversation with a man I don’t recognize. Yevgeny sits to his right.
My steps falter.
Ivan slows his pace beside me to match.
Yevgeny has been part of Viktor’s household for as long as I can remember, though he’s only a few years older than I am.
Familiarity should make him less frightening.
It doesn’t.
He wears a black suit without a tie, the collar of his shirt open at the throat.
His dark hair is cut close to his head, revealing the black viper covering the left side of his head.
Its scaled body coils up his neck and disappears behind his ear.
The head stretches across his temple, its open jaws framing the outer corner of his eye between two long fangs.
When his gaze settles on me, it looks as though the snake is looking too.
He doesn’t fidget. He doesn’t look toward the doors or check the men stationed outside.
He simply watches.
“Ah,” Viktor says. “There’s my niece.”
None of the men rise.
I didn’t expect them to. Men like these don’t defer to women.
Ivan pulls out the empty chair, and I sit.
I put on the smile I’ve practiced in the mirror.
“Good evening.”
Yevgeny studies me without bothering to disguise it.
A chill travels down my spine.
I unfold my napkin and spread it across my lap.
Then I become the woman Viktor expects me to be.
Beautiful.
Pleasant.
Silent.
Halfway through dinner, I can’t remain at the table any longer.
Yevgeny’s presence sets every nerve in my body on edge.
Viktor’s business associate is Albanian, a heavy man with thick fingers and a gold watch buried in the dark hair covering his wrist. His opinions about women belong to another century.
He speaks about wives as though they’re livestock and daughters as though they’re currency.
Viktor laughs.
Yevgeny watches me.
Being ignored by Viktor is almost worse than having his attention. The men discuss ports, shipments, and alliances while I sit among them like another item being negotiated.
This is what’s waiting for me.
This is my future.
The room grows too warm. Candle flames shiver in the center of the table, consuming what little air remains. The Albanian’s collar appears to tighten around his thick neck. The walls draw closer with every breath I take.
I glance over my shoulder.
A few moments later, Ivan appears.
“I need to use the restroom,” I whisper.
He reaches for my chair, but Yevgeny places a hand on the back of it.
The movement stops us both.
The viper’s open jaws shift with his face when he turns toward Ivan.
“You’ll go with her.”
Ivan nods once.
Only then does Yevgeny remove his hand.
The moment I leave the private dining room, I draw my first full breath in what feels like an hour.
It trembles on the way out.
Ivan notices.
“Everything okay?”
“I don’t like being in that room.”
He guides me toward the rear corridor.
“It’s nearly over.”
The hallway outside the private restrooms is cool and quiet, the noise from the restaurant reduced to a distant murmur. Framed photographs of the Italian coast hang beneath small brass lights. Every polished surface reflects a distorted piece of me as we pass.
Ivan checks the men’s room first. Then he accompanies me into the women’s room and performs a quick visual sweep.
His hand closes around the handle of a door marked LINENS.
Locked.
Satisfied, he backs toward the exit.
“I’ll wait in the hall.”