“Holler if you need anything,” he says, and walks to the door. He opens it and the sound of the TV grows louder.
“Dante’s dead,” I call out when he has one foot out of the bedroom.
He stops at that and turns, his hand on the doorknob.
“I saw them. They all died,” I tell him.
“That’s not true. I wasn’t on the island. And Cristiano survived. You met his wife, Scarlett.”
“Scarlett?” I feel my forehead furrow.
He nods. “They started a family. They have a little boy. Well, more of a little hellion,” he says proudly. “And another one on the way.”
“She’s alive?”
He nods. “Because of you. You made that deal with Petrov and saved her life.”
No, I didn’t. I hadn’t been smart in how I’d said it, but I only realized it later. And I don’t like that he is trying to flatter me. I’m about to tell him so when his phone buzzes and he turns his attention to it.
“That’ll be Cristiano. They’re anxious to hear from you. Your grandmother especially.”
My grandmother is dead. They killed her too. Felix told me. Showed me the pictures. I’d been five at the time, but I still remember the mess they made. The ruin they left in their wake.
Why is he doing this? Why is he lying to me like this? Playing with me. Is this one of Petrov’s tricks? Did he stage it all only to punish me again? He’s done it before. He likes playing with me. Making me fall into his traps for his sadistic pleasure.
“Is this a test? A trick?”
“What?”
I push my fingers into my hair trying to think.
“Have a shower, Mara. Get cleaned up. Put on fresh clothes. Then we’ll talk. I’ll tell you all about them. We can even call them.”
I stare up at him.
“Lock the door if you want. I won’t hurt you or punish you.”
I study him and as much as I want to believe him, I can’t afford to. I look down at my lap, thinking what to do. How to get back to the penthouse.
“All right?” he asks, taking a step back into the room, back toward me.
He dips his head to see my face, eyebrows high and I want to believe him.
“What happened to your eye?” I ask before I can stop myself. I don’t want to care.
He straightens again, expression hardening a little. “There was an explosion. I lost my sight in that eye soon after.”
“Explosion?”
“Five years ago. The night Petrov took you. The night Scarlett killed Helga.”
He knows all of that? He was there, in that house? If he was there, then why did he let Petrov take me? If he cared so much, why would he let Petrov have me? It doesn’t add up.
“Go get cleaned up. We’ll talk after.”
I nod so he’ll leave and watch him finally walk out of the room. When the door closes, I take a moment to really look around. It’s a big room, bigger than even Petrov’s bedroom was. But his was tacky. This is minimal. Industrial. I like it. Even the mattress is set on piles of crates. No bed frame.
One wall has large windows without any curtains. I climb out of the bed, the cement floor cold. No carpet. The first thing I do is go to the door and lock it. I have the feeling if he wanted to, he could kick it in pretty easily, but I do it anyway.
I walk to the window, put a hand against the glass. It’s cold and a light snow has begun to fall. On the pavement below I see the remnants of the last storm from a few days ago. It’s black slush now. It had been cold the last time I was in the city too.
I see why he doesn’t have curtains here. There isn’t another building nearby, not a high one at least. We must not be in the city proper. Assuming we’re still in New York although the helicopter ride wasn’t very long so I think we are. Maybe New Jersey.
The urge to pee has me turning to go into the bathroom. I check out his things as I go, a few sweaters, some shirts, jeans. His wallet is sticking out of the pocket of the jeans, and I glance to the door before slipping it out. He must have forgotten it was here.
I bite my lip as I touch the soft black leather. It could be a test, so I just decide to have a look. See if he really is who he says he is. I open it but inside only find cash. No ID. Not even a credit card. Convenient. I count the money. Eight hundred-dollar bills.
I close the wallet and slip it back into his pocket. I won’t take it. What would I do with it anyway? I go into the bathroom, switch on the light, close and lock the door. This is spacious too and everything looks new and nice. I run my fingers over the stone countertop as I head to the toilet. I really need to pee. I pull the hoodie up—it’s big enough that it falls to mid-thigh—and pee. That’s when I notice the bandage on my hip over the P.