Chapter 6 MINKA
MINKA
Iswitch the faucet off inside the hotel’s ornate bathroom and walk to the paper dispenser on feet that ache beyond comprehension, tugging two sheets out and wiping my hands dry while I eye myself in the mirror.
My makeup remains flawless, thanks to the setting spray the artist smothered me in countless hours ago.
My hair remains almost as perfect as it was when I left the salon, my dress is beautiful, and my knee is holding up.
But my eyes… there’s not much a woman can do to conceal the red where they should be white, or the shadows forming, even under caked-on cosmetics.
Tossing the paper towels in the trash can, I catch sight of a clock on the wall above the door—twelve-oh-three—and release a long, tired sigh. This will end soon, right? Wedding guests will leave, the bride and groom will sneak out, and eventually, Archer will take me home.
Whichever home. Wherever. I don’t even care anymore.
I turn toward the door and hook my fingers around the glittering silver handle, but just before I pull it open, a toilet flushes further along the line of cubicles.
Heels clip-clip-clip against cold tile, then the door opens and a woman in green steps out. “Oh.” She startles and drops her gaze, pasting on a small, fake smile as she moves toward the sink. “Sorry. Surprised me.”
She speaks with an accent. South Slavic, maybe. Which isn’t entirely different from the accent my Polish mother exhibited in my youth.
“You’re here with Anthony Agosti, aren’t you?”
She jolts a second time, her eyes flickering to mine in the mirror’s reflection. “Do I know you?”
“No. And I don’t know you.” I release the door handle and meander closer to the woman with yellowed bruising on her arm, right above her biceps. “I don’t know Anthony, either. But I saw you at the wedding. You were standing with him, so I assumed…”
“He is my husband.” She scrubs her hands, pumping soap into her palms and lathering. “He is expecting me, so I cannot stay here and talk.”
“When did you arrive stateside, Mrs. Agosti?”
She holds her silence, her eyes on her work and her lips pressed firmly shut.
“My mother’s family came from Poland.” I move another step closer to the beautiful, young woman. Two. “It’s not so difficult to recognize your accent. Though in my mother’s case, being here meant she lost most of the cadence from her speech. This leads me to assume you came here as a child.”
More soap. More scrubbing.
“Not an infant. But not a grown woman, either. Perhaps a young teenager. Did your entire family relocate, too, or just your immediate family?”
She sniffs, short, sharp, and with a definite finality in the sound. She’s not talking.
“I was born here. It was just the three of us—my mom and dad and me—but both of my parents had strong ties to their home countries, which means I was one confused little girl by the time I got to kindergarten with my mix of accents and Daniel Tiger’s powerful influence in my life.
” I stop with an easy eight feet still separating us and fold my arms, but when the action only pushes my boobs ridiculously higher, I huff and drop them again.
“I guess I don’t really notice my words come out differently sometimes, and none of my friends seem to mention it anymore.
Have you traveled back to your homeland since you became an adult? ”
“No.” She slaps the tap off and stomps to the paper towel dispenser.
Tearing out two sheets, just like I did, she wipes her hands with fast, hasty swipes.
“I arrived here when I was nine years old, and I have not returned since.” She balls the paper and feigns a smile.
“You should not be speaking to me, Doctor Mayet. It is not proper.”
“You know my name, but I don’t know yours.” I camouflage my nerves with a casual tilt of my head. “I suppose I find it peculiar that you know both my name and vocation, considering I’ve never met you before in my life.”
“I listen very carefully to my husband’s business dealings.” She tosses the paper towels into the trash can, then turns, stalking my way and stops when her shoulder brushes mine. “Anthony knows your name, too, Doctor. He speaks of it while you dance with your police officer husband.”
Coolly, she continues to the door, grabs the handle, and swings it wide.
“Wait.” I spin and follow her into the hall, my heart in my throat and nerves blocking every avenue for air to reach my brain.
Throwing caution to the wind, I do to her what others have done; I clutch her arm and drag her to a sudden, sharp stop, then I stride around and meet her face-to-face.
“It’s my understanding Anthony is Mr. Cordoza’s guest. If Anthony—or you—pose a threat to my family, I’d like to know about it immediately. ”
She peels my fingers off—one, then two, three, and four—then she tugs herself free and releases me far gentler than I would if our roles were reversed. “As I said, Doctor Mayet, I listen to all business dealings. I do not believe Anthony is a threat to those you love tonight.”
Tonight? “But tomorrow?”
She grins, soft and almost sweet, her long mascaraed lashes coming down to kiss her cheeks.
“Not tomorrow, either.” Leaning closer, she whispers, “I am married to the man, Doctor Mayet. But I do not particularly care for him. It is my belief he is not, and cannot be, a threat to your family. He lacks the resources in his current state, which is why he so diligently kisses Estefan Cordoza’s asshole. ” She drops her chin in farewell.
I want to ask if he’s a threat to someone else, if not my family?
Is he a threat to her? Or to anyone in attendance tonight.
But Agosti himself steps around the corner fifteen feet from where we stand, mild concern making way for curiosity when he spots us, then a smarmy smirk, like he thinks he’s the cat and I’m a canary caught in his trap.
The woman’s smile disappears, replaced by a tightening of her jaw.
“Good evening, Doctor Mayet.” Anthony grips his wife and yanks her to his side. He looks me up and down with dark, deviant eyes that, once upon a time, would have made my skin crawl. Now, I feel something else entirely. “It surprises me to see you out here all alone without your guard.”
I glance along the hallway and find all the suit-wearing muscle men are, in fact, somewhere else.
Fantastic.
“The Malones were more organized when Timothy the Second steered his ship.”
“The Malones were divided when he was the captain. Made him weak. Ineffectual.” I show him my friendliest, fakest grin. “Kinda like you, I’m told.”
His eyes flash with a lava-like temper that no doubt leads to women with yellowing bruises on their skin.
“The Malones are strong now, with an accomplished leader. I’m sorry—” I turn to the woman. “I didn’t catch your name. Certainly, you have one?”
“Not one you should bother yourself with.” Agosti tugs her closer, his spidery fingers trapping her arm and matching the fingerprints still on her flesh from the last time he manhandled her. “Do you require an escort back inside, Doctor Mayet? It would be my honor—”
“She’s fine without.” Archer stops behind me, a shadow in the night, a guardian I didn’t know was near.
His chest touches my back, his hand pressing lightly on my hip.
Tension rolls from his body in waves, anger nothing more than a pulsing dragon ready to burn his adversary.
“Move along, Anthony. Don’t speak to her again. ”
Agosti’s eyes brim with arrogance and approval. “You left, young Archer. But I’m thrilled to witness the control you exude within your marriage. As a man should.” He drops his gaze to me, only to bow and do exactly as he was told: not speak to me. “Bravo, Malone. Your father would be proud.”
Furious, Archer nudges me back until I’m seated against his crotch.
“My father feels nothing; he’s busy rotting in the orchard.
And I have no desire to control my wife.
I merely wish to save her the displeasure of spending even a second in your company.
Fifty feet,” he spits out. “And not a single fucking inch closer.”
Anthony raises a hand in submission and uses the other to drag his nameless wife away. Eight feet from where we stand, he wrenches her around and gives us his back, then he stalks to the reception room door and leads her inside without a single backward glance.
“Swear to God, Minka.” Archer releases a heavy breath and jerks me around. “You said you had to pee.”
“I did.” I take his hand in mine, but I don’t toss it away. Because I see the way his pulse thunders out of control. I see the fear embedded in his eyes. “I ran into that chick in the bathroom. We talked for a minute, and then we came out here and he approached us.”
“You talked?”
“Hardly! I might’ve slipped a barb or two into each pleasantry we exchanged, I stoked his temper a little, and then you—”
“No, you and Jasna. You spoke to his wife?”
Jasna? Interesting. “I asked her when she came to the US. Her accent is not that of someone born here. I recognized what I thought were Slavic origins, so I asked about them.”
“Did she speak back?”
“Not a lot.” I narrow my eyes and search his emerald gaze. “Only that I shouldn’t worry about Agosti hurting my family. She said he’s weak.”
“Doctor Mayet?”
I startle again and glance over my shoulder, swallowing as Estefan Cordoza strolls leisurely along the hall with one hand in his pocket and the second fastened over the top of an ornate walking cane.
Unlike us, and unlike Agosti, Cordoza walks with an entourage of men willing and able to wage war with no notice.
“Mr. Cordoza.” From formidable to respectful, Archer brings me back to stand side by side, tucking me under his arm and cinching me close on his left side. “Sir. Enjoying your evening?”