She took his hand now, tears in her eyes. “It was a few months after Serafina died. You were in lower Austria learning ‘landscape architecture,’?” she said, drawing air quotes around the last bit.
He scoffed. “You’re so cynical. It was a spiritual retreat.”
She tilted her head. “Please, it was a cult using you as an unpaid farmhand. They made you cut off all contact with the outside world. It was owned by one superhot guy with six boyfriends and zero shirts.”
“Fair point. But now I can grow a hardy turnip.”
She smiled. “Serafina left everything to Christoph, but her accounts were empty. He never knew where the cash went. Then, before my sophomore year began, my fake papers expired. I went to Madame for help. She offered to take on the lease, pay the rent, and get me new papers if I worked for Blanc de Noir. I agreed. That’s where Imet Hedy. We trained together in the art of seduction. Madame enhanced my skills at reading people and Hedy’s at manipulating them. Somewhere along the way, we fell in love. But Madame forbade our relationship, said it threatened ourcommitment to the craft. Hedy agreed and rose in rank, setting herself up as the new Serafina.”
“Hedy picked money over you.Howshocking,” he said, deadpan.
“After a few months, Madame declared me ready, even if my documents weren’t, so I registered as a sex worker using Serafina’s identity. Then I discovered Blanc de Noir sells way more than sex—”
He leaned forward, couch springs creaking, and lowered his glasses. “Drugs?Diamonds? Weapons?”
“Quit interrupting. I’m on a roll.”
“Sorry. Continue,” he said, leaning back.
“Madame’s escort service is a veneer for a corporate espionage scheme. We saw regular clients, but for certain VIPs we’d play Mata Hari with their enemies, collecting trade secrets that Madame cashed in on and sold to someone over her head. I never learned who. It was easy spy craft, watching as drunken deals were signed on cocktail napkins or bribes were paid. It’s amazing what men will show you when you’re only seen as arm candy. Madame’s motto was ‘When in doubt, wear red lipstick and play the fool.’?”
Fernando’s face was blue from holding his breath.
“You may interrupt,” she said.
He exhaled. “No one told me slutty superspy was a career option.” He calmed himself, then steepled his fingers solemnly. “Go on.”
“But sometimes the information we shared had deadly consequences for the men we spied on. Once I realized what Blanc de Noir was really up to, I wondered about Serafina’s death. I decided to stay, get proof of what Madame was doing, and figure out who she was really working for. That was my first mistake. My second was confiding in Hedy.”
Sterling’s throat tightened. She took a drink. “I’m saying thisonce. Afterwards, I don’t want to discuss it, and I don’t want sympathy, understood?”
Concern creased Fernando’s brow, but he forced it back. “You don’t have to tell me the details,” he said, reaching for her hand. She brushed it away.
“I wasn’t going to. Let’s just say… Madame sent me to a client with violent tastes. What he wanted wasn’t kink. It was cruelty. I fought back, hard, and escaped. When I returned to Blanc de Noir, Madame saw me, beaten up and bloody, andsmiled. I’d been set up.”
“Oh my God,” he said, voice trembling.
“Hedy had revealed I was looking for what happened to Serafina. Madame said this was my answer.”
Fernando looked like he might be ill. But Sterling felt nothing. She’d spent a decade watering the memory down with bourbon, keeping herself numb. “What happened to the guy?”
“He survived but needed reconstructive surgery after I broke his cheek. He threatened to press charges. Madame’s surgeon fixed him up. When I quit, she reminded me of the clause in our contract that required me to repay her for expenses she’d covered and damages I’d caused, including her lost client. It was legal blackmail, with a fine of a hundred and fifty thousand that triples if I talk. It’s likely unenforceable in court, but I can’t fight it without violating the NDA, or revealing my illegal-immigrant status—”
“And alerting American authorities you’re here. Jesus.”
“Exactly. There. I’ve said it. Get your questions out now, because I’m done talking about it.”
“Understood,” said Fernando, but Sterling could see he was rattled. More than the fines or Madame’s threats, this was why she’d never told him.
“Right. So you quit, then came here?”
“It was a few days before Christmas. Too cold to sleep in my storage compartment. I couldn’t let Christoph or my family see me like that. So I came to the Orient, where Serafina told me to go if I needed work. Mr. K saw my injuries and took me in. I told him enough of what happened, without naming names. He paid my debt to Madame, gave me a job, and vowed to protect me. And I believed I was safe here, until Nightingale decided to prove me wrong.”
“Where’s the coin? I want to look at it again,” he said.
She got up and swiped a letter opener from the desk on her way to the fireplace.
Serafina’s initials were scratched into the top corner of the mantel, marking a hidden compartment. The Hotel had as many secrets as her clientele, with details like this concealed in most rooms. She pried the sliding mechanism aside with the letter opener. It snagged on the original wallpaper hidden beneath the green paint.
