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I force out a laugh, but I’m desperate to change the subject. “This place is incredible,” I say, twirling the stem of the champagne flute between my fingers. “Aisling says you always host the best balls.”
“She does?” She beams. “Oh, I just love her. Well, the garden is such a magical place, but it’s taken me eight balls to convince Cill to let us hold one here. He’s so precious of all his…” She waves wildly. “Plants and stuff. But I just think, why not? Gotta share the magic! The only other action this place gets is my monthly therapy retreats.” Her hand finds my forearm as she lowers her voice. “I’m a therapist if you didn’t know. Just in case you ever want to…” She shakes her head, like ridding herself of her rambles. “Ah, ignore me. Getting ahead of myself. But yes, in fact, some of my patients are here tonight. I know, I know, not very professional of me.” Her eyes leave me and land on someone just over my right shoulder. “Oh look—there’s one of my patients now.”
Taking a sip, I turn to follow her gaze. There’s a woman, waif-like and blond, floating between the clouds on her own.
“Oh, bless her,” she mutters, tugging at my hand. “She probably doesn’t know a soul. Let’s go say hi—”
But as the woman turns, I freeze. Pulling my arm from Lottie’s grip, I feel the garden spin around me like a shimmering typhoon.
“Romy? Are you okay?”
Lottie’s voice sounds a million miles away. I’m distracted by the sheer horror creeping up over my body, transfixed on the woman with the blond hair and alabaster skin.
Inessa Volkov.
One of the girls from the pustosh’.
She’s older now, sure. And the last time I saw her was the day the orphanage closed. She was being dragged through the courtyard by a Vulture, kicking and screaming. But I’d recognize the sharp cut of her jaw and ice-blue eyes anywhere.
“S-Sorry,” I mutter, “I need the bathroom.”
I don’t wait for directions. I just turn on my heel and stagger through the crowds. Heads turn and mouths whisper—is that Donnacha Quinn’s wife? I didn’t even know he was dating—but I’m too focused on finding a dark corner I can hide in and collect my thoughts to care. I pass a large dining table, set up for dinner. I grab a steak knife and slip it into my bag. Then I find a path, and I follow it away from the crowds to an oak-paneled door. Inside, there’s a vast condo. The lights are off, no one’s home, and the silence tells me I shouldn’t be here.
I don’t care. I press against doors until I find the bathroom. But when I slam the door behind me, it won’t close.
There’s a red leather brogue wedged between the door and the frame. And just like I’d recognize Inessa anywhere, I’d recognize that shoe, too.
I stagger backward until my ass meets the lip of the tub. The door swings open, and a familiar figure darkens the doorway.
A Vulture.
MyVulture.
“Leonid,” I whisper.
His chuckle is thick, syrup-like. Trickling into the air between us. “Malishka, please. I go by Leo in the presence of these Yanks.” He takes a step forward, inching closer to me. “Which is why we shall speak in English instead of the mother tongue.” Another step. My fingers curl around the rim of the bathtub. I wish I could dive into it and disappear into another dimension. “Because you never know who’s lurking in the shadows, do you, Romashka?”
Fear grips me. “What are you doing here?”
“Hoping to see you,” he quips back, smoothing down the breast of his jacket. He’s made no effort to indulge in the enchanted forest theme, instead choosing his signature woolen suit, complete with ruby silk tie and matching cuff links. I’m not surprised. In the lifetime that I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him in anything else. “How is married life treating you? You must be enjoying it because you went to his house and never came back to me.”
His eyes are, and have always been, the darkest shade of black. Like an eagle, they constantly flicker as if he’s always on the lookout for new prey.
As if I’m not enough.
“He didn’t allow me to leave. I had no way of keeping in contact with you. Leonid, I—”
The flick of his hand is enough to cut me off. It always has been. “I’m Leo tonight,” he says smoothly, “just like you are Romy, no doubt, and my…wife,” he says the word with a small chuckle as if he’s just told a funny joke, “is Isabella, not Inessa. Remember her? Tell me, will you ruin this assignment like you did your last one?”
My mouth is too dry to swallow. My words stick to my throat, sounding desperate and forced. I hate how he does this to me. “Danny English was an accident, I already told you.” Already paid the price for that fuckup. “I had the pills in my purse ready to go…but it didn’t work out like that.”
“No kidding.”
A sudden wave of anger floods me. “Shit, why didn’t you tell me who he was?” I hiss. “If I knew he was so well-known—running for the governor seat, for Christ’s sake—perhaps I would have been more careful—”
His slap comes hard and fast across my face, punctuated by the coldness of his ring. Then he’s on top of me, fist in my hair. The smell of his breath—coffee and those disgusting orange candies he sucks—assaults my nostrils. I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut.
I do what I always do.
