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Our gazes hold and clash as seconds tick by. He’s daring me to shoot him but knows I won’t. Not here, anyway. Eventually, he tears his eyes from mine, his expression bored except for the tick of a muscle in his cheek. Slowly, he rises from his seat, his hand on the doorknob. At the last second, he turns and delivers his parting shot.
“Bianca was always so willing to get down on her knees. I hope she affords you the same consideration.”
A sharp blast explodes through the air, my finger pressed tightly on the trigger. It’s a warning shot. Next time, Días’s brains will be splattered all over the wall. With a mad laugh, he slips out of the room, and all I have to show for my outburst is anger twisting in my gut and an empty casing on the floor.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
BIANCA
It’s a Thursday afternoon,and the house is quiet. Well, it’s always quiet since this place is so spread out, but Andrei and Georgia are out of town, and Kira, who visits often, is spending the night in her funky Brooklyn loft.
Having nothing else to do, I spend part of my day using Georgia’s painting studio. I’m a crap artist, but I’m also going a little stir-crazy, so I’ve learned to branch out and try new things. Georgia’s been kind enough to give me a few basic watercolor lessons, and even if my work isn’t half as nice as hers, sitting in her gorgeous studio on the third floor of the house, overlooking the sea with Eris by my side is the best way I can think of to relax.
Choosing a cerulean blue for the sky of my landscape, I brush it over the canvas and attempt to layer the colors as Georgia instructed. Another week has passed, and I still have no new information to offer Deidre. She knows I haven’t put the bugs in play here at the estate, and the pressure is weighing on me. I need to, I know I need to, but the perfect moment always seems out of reach.
Time slips through my fingers, and before I know it, the sun is so low it’s but a vague glimmer in the sky. My masterpiece is hardly that, but it’s not terrible. I abandon the painting on the easel—I’ll figure out what to do with it tomorrow.
As I stand, Eris stirs from her doggy bed and shakes off the last vestiges of sleep. When she’s not stirring up shit, she’s a pretty great dog, content to hang by my side for most of the day. Having her with me makes me feel less lonely, ironic considering that was the reason I told Daniil I bought her, though it was nowhere near the truth at the time.
The dog has served both of her purposes well.
I lead Eris—on leash as I’ve quickly learned—through the grand halls of the mansion back to our suite. Georgia pointed out all the amazing original art in the house, but I have to admit the big names are lost on me. Still, I appreciate the beauty of the home. I wonder if it’s Georgia’s touch, because it’s not just tastefully decorated, but there is a sense of hominess, like people actually live and love here. That certainly wasn’t the case with any of my uncle’s homes.
Arriving back in our suite, I find Natalia Kashin laying out a tea service for me. The Kozlovs’ former nanny turned mother hen handles most of the household business. She’s more like a member of the family than an employee, but I think she likes to keep busy overseeing the Kozlovs’ domestic needs. And Georgia adores her as much as I’ve come to.
“Well, well, what is this?” I say, coming further into the room as Natalia pours the steaming liquid into a little china teacup for me. She’s a petite woman with silver hair always neatly pulled back from her face, and a warm air about her.
“I thought you and Daniil might want a little afternoon pick-me-up,” she responds kindly, bending down to pet Eris. Unlike Nadia, Natalia has much more patience for my unruly dog.
“Daniil?” I say, looking around the room. “I’m sure he’s still at the casino.”
“He was,” she confirms, “but he’s home early. Maybe he wanted to surprise you.”
Excitement surges. Even though Daniil goes out of his way to make time for me, it’s rare that I see him this early in the day. “Where is he?” I look around the room, but there’s no sign of him.
“Just in his office finishing up some business. I’m sure he won’t be long. I can let him know—”
“No need.” I soften my interruption with a little smile. The back of my neck prickles with awareness. If there ever was a reason to visit his office, this would be it.
The excitement I felt a moment ago coils to a dull ache in my belly. Because what I have to do next brings me no joy. Quite the opposite.
“Thank you, Natalia, this is wonderful. I think I’ll run a bath and relax until Daniil comes up.”
“Of course, my dear.” She gives my shoulder an affectionate pat before seeing herself out of our suite.
As soon as she’s gone, I move towards our walk-in closet with intent. Slipping to the back of the small space, I stand on a dressing chair to reach the highest shelf. My hand curls around my old childhood music box. I lift it from the shelf, and bring it down, marveling at how solid the carved wood feels in my hand.
Gingerly lifting the top flap of the box, I spend a moment admiring the little spinning ballerina, closing my eyes as the haunting melody spills from the box, transporting me back to another time. When I was ten years old, Papa gifted this to me after my first ballet recital.
“This is for you, sweetheart. A dancing queen. Watch her spin to the music. She looks happy just like you do when you are on stage.” He’d hugged me, and then my mom hugged me and brought baby Celeste into the embrace.
A moment etched in my brain forever. I can still remember how warm I felt wrapped in their arms, the smell of Dad’s woodsy aftershave, how Celeste would always grab my hair or my cheek, anything she could get her chubby fingers on. The happy memory still has the power to take my breath away. It’s been so long, and so much has happened since, and yet I can always conjure up that perfect moment in time, when life was still good, and I still had a family that loved me.
My fingers dig under the surface of the music box for the phone Deidre provided. It’s ironic really, that the box my parents gifted to me all those years ago will have a hand in exacting revenge for their deaths.
Heart pounding, I take out one of the bugs and discreetly tuck it under the timepiece of my Bulgari wristwatch. It’s the only accessory that I can guarantee will stay on after Daniil’s finished with me. My skin is cold and clammy. Nerves, most likely. There is no coming back from this. On some level, I knew that Daniil didn’t conduct mafia business from the penthouse. But here at the Kozlov estate, where the brothers often gather with Yulian, I’ve got a hunch they talk openly.
Once this bug is in play, I’ve officially sold out my husband to the FBI.
