“It’s perfect,” she says, before her attention returns to the canvas drying against the wall. Painting has been a great way to destress and forget about my problems, and I must say, I’m particularly proud of my last two pieces. “He’s right; you are really talented.”
My eyes follow her voice and I find her still scanning through the multiple canvases. “Thanks.” Then I check the space available in front of me and say, “For the portrait, do you want to sit, lie on a couch, or remain standing?”
Yara puts her briefcase on a chair that stands at the end of the atelier and takes from there a few accessories before she starts placing one around her neck. Since she has her back to me while putting them on, I can’t really see what they are. Against my better judgement, my attention goes to a bright mark right above her butt-cheeks. Wait—this isn’t a mark; those are initials.
“You are branded?” The question rolls off my lips, unable to keep the outrage out of my tone.
As she turns to face me, I have pretty much given up on the idea of not looking at her naked. Holy shit! Now Yara is wearing a leather choker collar with a large rose gold “O” ring and matching handcuffs on each wrist. The view is shocking and disturbing to stay the least. How can she be so comfortable with presenting herself like that to me? I do my best to keep an emotionless expression, but it’s a failed attempt.
“Yes.” She lets out a quick chuckle, reveling in my nervousness. With a smile hanging on her lips, she walks in my direction and, after standing close enough, she turns her back, showing me the initials “E.V.L” branded on her skin.
My stomach literally flips in disgust and I feel like vomiting. I can’t believe she burned her skin permanently to imprint those initials. This woman is a fucking psycho, I knew it.
“It stands for Elliot Van Lawick, in case you were wondering. This painting is for him.”
Oh my goodness! Breathe, Petra, breathe…
I can’t believe I’m gonna paint Yara naked and with that stuff around her neck and wrists. Jeez… Trying to push the imagery of her branded skin out of my head, I switch to a lighter subject. “So, um, you want to put yourself in position so that I can take a few pictures?”
Chapter 13
Manhattan, February 18, 2021
Alexander Van Dieren
“Mr. Van Dieren?” Cate says as she enters my office. “Your sister Yara is here.”
“Ah, yes, let her come in.” Finally! I can’t wait to know the outcome of her research about who’s attending the ceremony.
I stand up for the sake of politeness and watch Yara walking in, wearing her usual white polo breeches and black equestrian boots, but paired with a long, black overcoat that hangs on her shoulders. “Do you have any info for me?” I ask, my curiosity dismissing all civility.
The corners of her mouth lift reveling in my impatience. Once Cate leaves us alone and we hear the door cracking closed, Yara takes off her coat, putting it on one of the chairs, and tosses the file she’s holding on my desk. As she steps closer to me, I sit back, open the file, and my eyes land on a photograph taken by one of my security agents—which has been cooperating with her—featuring a man that seems to be in his seventies with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a suit, and leaving a restaurant downtown.
“Who’s he?” I ask immediately.
“Senator Julian Schumer—one of Eric’s mentors and best friends,” Yara explains, sitting slightly on my desk. “He’s the one who brought him to where he is today.”
I nod, enjoying her findings so far. “And why is he relevant?”
“He’s one of the attendees in Venice this weekend,” she answers back.
My heart jumps in excitement at her answer and I can’t contain a chuckle. “That’s a hell of a lot of luck.”
“Not really,” she says. “The initiation ceremony happens only once a year, so all the members are attending. You should know that by now.”
I ignore her bitter comment and proceed, “So what’s the plan?”
She stands up and goes to check the view behind me. “The plan is to catch him with one of the underage girls,” she says, looking at the skyscrapers standing tall in front of her. She then turns slowly, a smirk playing on her lips. “Then, once we’ve got leverage, we ask him to step in and talk Eric into dropping the case.”
“He’ll be wearing a Venetian mask though.”
“And?” she says, not impressed. “We can easily take a video, hold him in hostage, and unmask him.”
I consider her plan thoughtfully; if this senator is truly Eric’s best friend and mentor, then surely Eric will drop the case to save him from a possible scandal. “Make sure he goes to a private room with the girls, and that there’s a camera recording them.”
“Will do,” she answers back. Then a quick silence settles in while Yara keeps observing me with that twisted smile on her lips. “I have one condition though.”
“Why didn’t I expect otherwise?” I reply, knowing she wasn’t into saving my ass for free. “Which one?”
“You have to attend too.”
“Are you serious?” I can’t hide the astonishment from my face. She knows perfectly well that I’d stopped attending after Amanda and I broke up and that I have zero intentions going back there ever again. “I’m not attending. Forget it.”
“Your wife is going though,” Yara announces just like that, without an ounce of bother.
I blink twice, barely able to process those four words. She must be joking! It must one of those pranks she likes to do. “She is what?”
“I invited her.” There’s no trace of humor in her tone as she tells me that. “It’s time to test her loyalty once and for all—either she is with us or she is against us.”
I huff, shaking my head at her move. I was so happy with the plan she had in mind, only for it to be smashed down with her stupid condition. “She fucking stated in front of a camera that she is with them, Yara,” I remind her, and the simple memory of it leaves a sore taste in my mouth.
“Yes, but her heart isn’t.” I close my eyes, her answer squeezing mine tight. “Trust me on this. Take your wife to Venice and enjoy a romantic weekend there with her.”
I shake my head, unable to comply with this. Yara’s so delusional. “There’s nothing romantic about going to that depraved ceremony with her.”
“Funny how you used to love them,” she snaps.
“Now it's different,” I retort, trying to find a way to dissuade Petra from attending. “Is Emma going?”
Despite Yara taking her time to answer me, I can read the truth in her gaze. “I can’t tell you that.”
I chuckle, looking away for a moment. “That means she is.” My tone is tired and I heave a long sigh. “Petra is gonna hate me if I don’t prevent her from getting into that shit.”
“You aren’t supposed to know about Emma in the first place.” My sister pauses for a beat, before saying, “Just pretend you know nothing.”
“Does Petra know Emma is going to be one of the initiated?”