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My head spins.
I feel painfully stupid. My flare of jealousy turns to a shameful taste on my tongue. We are not here for Salvatore. We are here for me. It would have been nice if he had at least mentioned what we had come here to do.
Salvatore has taken up a slow pace, circling Tatiana as he looks over the corset.
“It’s comfortable?” he asks.
“Very, if she’s used to corsets. Moreover, it will be designed to her exact specifications, and the lacing in the back allows for control over the tightness. It should never be cinched too tightly. Corsets are meant to outline a woman’s body, not compress it. Straps can be added to the shoulders for extra security and to reduce shifting, if desired. They look tactical, but I find them virtually useless in practice.”
Salvatore turns to me.
“What do you think?”
I am so blindsided by my own embarrassment and reaction; I’ve barely heard a word the woman has said. A Kevlar corset is a little BDSM for my taste, but no one would see it under my clothes. I’ve never owned a full corset, but the intention behind the bulletproof bodice appeals. If Salvatore is taking this many precautions, maybe he plans for me to be out of the house more regularly.
“I would wear it, if you think it’s necessary,” I tell him.
“I haven’t decided. Not yet.” Something silver glints in his hand.
Before I can utter a scream, Salvatore flips the switchblade and plunges it up into Tatiana’s stomach. She rasps in shock, half bent over against him.
“Sal!” I shriek. Three times he swings his arm back, driving the vicious force of the knife up into her again and again. The salesman jumps back violently, knocking down a display of sunglasses.
“Stop it!” I scream, pulling at him, pulling at his shoulder, his jacket, trying and failing to rip him away from her.
Finally, Salvatore steps back, leaving Tatiana bent at the waist and gasping.
The woman straightens slowly. She pushes a dislodged lock of hair away from her mouth.
Each breath heaves, but only superficial gouges mar the front of the corset’s material. I stare, numb, at the place where a devastating wound should be.
She locks eyes with Salvatore, her gaze cold as she comes to her full height.
Salvatore’s businessman mask settles back into place as if it never slipped.
“Admirable work, Miss Molnar,” he says, the blade flipping shut. “We’ll take it.”
For the first time, the woman nearly smiles.
“I expected you might.”
She’s utterly unperturbed by the savage, left-field attack.
My knees are jelly, the world narrow and tight. I think a pin drop might send me into a panic attack.
“If you’ll follow me,” she says to me, unflinchingly professional, “I’ll take your measurements.”
I can barely feel my feet as I am guided into the back to a fitting room. Frankie follows us. My fingers are clumsy on the buttons as I try to undress. I’m so dazed, Tatiana has to help me until I come out of the shock.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her, as the measuring tape presses to my skin.
Tatiana ignores me. She doesn’t even meet my gaze, muttering off numbers that she records on a notepad. Her measurements are quick and familiar, wasting no time. She’s not shaken at all.
“Are you alright?” I finally ask again, desperate for her to seem in some way affected by what just happened. Everyone is too calm and composed. It makes me feel like I’m the crazy one.
“Of course,” she says, emotionlessly. “My design is perfect. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t stake my life on it by letting you wear it.”
I look into her face as the meaning clicks. It doesn’t matter which of us is wearing the corset. If it fails for either of us, Tatiana is as good as dead. It’s insured with her blood just as much as it’s meant to protect mine.
