"An eyeball."
"What?!"
"Well," I say, pointing at the screen, "my eye won't work. Yours won't," I continue, holding up the blade. "Maybe his will."
She stares at the eyeball, her expression caught between disbelief and disgust.
"You're demented."
"I'm practical, darling," I say and move past her to the scanner.
She shifts aside quickly, shaking her head.
I hold the impaled eyeball up to the scanner, angling it so the lens can read the retina. A green light flashes, and the heavy door clicks unlocked.
"See?" I say, turning to Danika and winking. "Practical."
I push the door open and casually offer the knife back to her, the eyeball still skewered on the tip.
"Something to remember our time together," I say.
Danika grabs the handle and sharply flicks her wrist, sending the eyeball rolling across the floor.
"Wow, Danika. And here I thought you'd cherish it."
"Something is wrong with you," she says, stepping toward the door. "Just get inside before someone comes."
I hold the door open, gesturing for her to move.
"Ladies first."
She walks past me into the penthouse, and I follow, pulling the heavy door shut behind us.
16
DANIKA
The penthouse door shuts behind us with a thud, sealing us into a world of luxury I'd expect Dimitri to live in. Marble floors shine under recessed lighting with too many gold fixtures and modern art hanging on bright white walls. The air smells faintly of cigars and alcohol.
I step forward, scanning the massive open space. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the Sanremo coastline, the sea stretching into darkness. A sleek kitchen occupies the left side, all polished black granite and stainless steel with dark wood cabinets. To the right, a sunken living room with low-slung furniture surrounds a glass coffee table.
My eyes catch on a champagne bucket sitting on the marble island. A white towel drapes over the edge.
I walk toward it and dunk my knife into the ice water, watching crimson swirl around. I yank it out, wipe it on the towel, and put it away.
Behind me, Victor's footsteps move across the marble. He's smiling at what I'm doing.
Ass. But whatever, we're here for a reason.
"We need to split up," I say. "Cover more ground."
"Agreed."
I glance over my shoulder. He's already moving toward the far hallway, his silenced pistol held low and ready. The blood on his knuckles has dried to a dark rust color, but he doesn't seem to notice or care.
I turn back and take the other hall. I head into a room and start pulling open drawers and checking nightstands, but find nothing useful.
I move into the dining room. A long table carved from dark wood dominates the space, surrounded by high-backed chairs. I check the sideboard, rifling through linens and serving platters.
