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“A slave?” I say, wrinkling my nose. “To who?”

“Everyone who ever taught you this shit.”

I look up at him. He’s watching me with an intensity that makes my neck go warm.

And then my brain, which has clearly been affected by the champagne in my bloodstream, gets away from me.

Because if he isn’t lying—hypothetically, in a court of law, as I like to say—then what is this?

A man doesn’t melt a deadbolt off a door and threaten a saleswoman on Madison Avenue and stand in a Sunset Park tailor’s shop for two hours picking a dress over a simple debt.

Debts get collected. I saw him do it, to that poor, quivering man on Christmas Eve. You have until Friday. That’s how it’s done.

So if this doesn’t look like that…

Then what is it?

What if this isn’t debt service?

What if some part of it, some small, dumb corner of it, is⁠—

Two pale fingers settle on Kane’s sleeve.

The nails are almond-shaped and painted the exact pink of ballet slippers.

With them comes a silky, slinky, lilting voice. In her mouth, Russian sounds musical and beautiful.

“Vot ty gde! A ya tebya vsyu noch’ ishchu.”

Alisa.

Up close, she is even more beautiful than she was from across the room. Her skin has no visible pores. It’s smooth alabaster. Her hair is like a white-blonde waterfall and her hips have never even heard of cellulite.

Kane turns his head.

Not his body. Just his head.

“Alisa,” he says in crisp English. He holds out a hand toward me. “Meet my date, Delilah.”

Alisa’s eyes find me.

Her gaze takes in my wine-colored neckline. It flicks to Anna’s shawl before returning to my face.

The entire assessment lasts less than a second.

I don’t have to ask to know she’s less than impressed.

“Delilah.” She switches to English without a stumble. “I’ve heard so much.”

The sentence wears a lovely dress and carries a serrated knife.

“Oh?” I say. “That’s more than I’ve heard about you.”

She smiles like I’ve been charming. “Oh, he never says anything. I’m his favorite little secret.” Her fingers are still on his sleeve. “You don’t mind if I steal him for a minute, do you? He always used to let me take him whenever I wanted.” A little tip of her head toward him and a second hand coming to rest on his chest. “Remember that, Kane?”

Kane looks down at her hand on him, his face unreadable.

Alisa laughs softly. “This hall brings back memories. The old days were better, though, weren’t they? Before all the remodeling.”