I smirk, narrowing my eyes at her. “You shouldn’t trust me to roam freely in your home.”
She bends, lifting my chin and holding my gaze. I can feel her warm breath as it dusts across my lips. “I trust that you will do anything to protect that whore you call your lover. This is not Mikhailov Manor. There are always people in my home who won’t hesitate to kill you on the spot if you step out of line. Consider this collar your fraction of freedom here.”
Her eyes dance as they flicker over my face and the light reflected there can’t hide her emotion. This woman is grieving, hurt, lonely, desperate. I take stock of that and store it in my mind, knowing I can use that information to exploit her with affection, obedience, and care.
If I have to, I will charm her, seduce her, make her love me enough to let her guard down. And then I will use her to find a way to save Anya.
Chapter 12
Anya
According to Renata, I lack the appropriate attire for tonight’s family dinner. She’s left me a small pile of clothes from Olivia’s wardrobe on the bed in Vigo’s room. Olivia’s clothes are a size larger than what I normally wear, but Renata assured me she’ll purchase me new clothing soon...maternity clothing.
I still can’t wrap my mind around being pregnant. There’s hardly a bulge in my belly at three months. Doctor Lombardi said I’ll start to show more in the coming weeks—once I start eating regularly again and regaining the weight I’d lost in Vigo’s care. Still, I can’t imagine myself with a pregnant belly.
I sort through Olivia’s clothes and decide that I want to look as much like Renata as possible for this first family dinner. She’s the model for my performance—I want to mirror her so I can find a way to become her and destroy them all from within. I have no plan for how to do that, but I know the first thing I have to do is convince them that I am a Mikhailov, and a damn strong force to be reckoned with at that.
I select a smart, black pencil skirt and a cream-colored silk blouse that I tuck in at the waist. I should wear flat shoes, but I know I’ll be too short to posture against Renata if I do. So, even though I’m still weak in my recovery from Vigo’s torments, even though I’m pregnant and understand that I should avoid the possibility of a fall, I choose impractical high heels—burgundy, peep toe, with a strap around the ankle.
Luca is waiting outside the door when I come out of Vigo’s bedroom. He waits for me to lead the way, recognizing my newfound rank. He’s been with me all day, attending to my every need at Renata’s orders. I haven’t seen Ezra since this morning, but I know he’s been with her.
It sends my heart racing to think of him alone with her, which is the exact reason why I’ve fought with myself all day not to think of him.
I have to focus. My mind must be clear, and I must act with intention. Tonight is crucial for setting a tone on how I will behave with this newfound power.
Power.
It’s something that’s been beyond my reach for years, something I never dreamed I would have again. Now I have too much of it and it weighs on me. I’m terrified to make the wrong move.
Luca points me in the direction of the dining room on the first floor, a room I’ve never been in before. It’s the size of a small ballroom, though there’s only one large, wooden dining table at its center—it looks big enough to seat maybe fifteen people.
A flash of light draws my eyes down to my hand. Light bounces off the diamond rings on my finger from the crystalline chandelier above the table. I bring my hands in front of me and twist the shiny circles around my finger.
I’m a Mikhailov.
My breath catches. I could so easily slip into a panic with the reminder, but I know I can’t. I can’t do that here, not now. My diamond-decorated hand lands over my heart as I gasp in a sharp breath.
Just breathe and count.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
One. Two. Three. Four—
“Sit here,” Luca says, gesturing to a seat beside the head of the table. I’m thankful his instruction interrupted the anxiety building inside me.
Pull yourself together.
Lowering my hand to my side again, I look up at Luca and clear my throat. I know I must establish my place and I have to do it now. “No,” I tell him bravely. “I’ll sit here.” I move toward the head of the table and pull out the chair with trembling hands.
“No, no.” Luca reaches for the chair, but I sit before he can pull it away. “That is where Signora Vittori sits.”
My heart stops, then starts again in a flurry. Sitting in a board member’s seat would have gotten me killed when I was a slave. Though I know I’m one of them now and I can sit where I please, it doesn’t stop me from feeling the fear of being disobedient to my master.
I wonder if I’ll ever stop feeling like a slave.
Not until Ezra and I are free.
I feel like I can’t breathe, but I will my body to stiffen, to straighten. I will myself to raise my chin and dismiss Luca as only a master would. “That will be all, Luca.”
With my dismissal, he rushes from the room, probably running off to tell his mistress what I’ve done. I close my eyes, breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
My eyes snap open with a sudden flurry of noise. Lorenzo and Olivia enter the room, holding hands and chatting. Behind them is Bianca and my eyes widen. She’s the girl who lived in the box next to mine in the basement—another of Vigo’s broken dolls. I’m surprised that she’s still alive, though I suppose I shouldn’t be—no one would have had time to concern themselves with her life while chasing after me and Ezra.
Bianca’s eyes catch mine and she stares at me with curiosity and something else in her expression, something resembling jealousy maybe. She and I never did get along, but I don’t really feel anything toward her except for sadness. I feel sad for her because she’s still a slave.
I was a slave a little more than a day ago.
There’s a catch in my heartbeat that feels for her, for the fact that I’m only here and in this position because of sheer dumb luck—the same reason she’s a slave. I wonder if they’re going to take better care of her now that Vigo’s gone. Perhaps they’ve brought her up to have dinner with the family.
My wondering is settled quickly as Lorenzo directs Bianca to the harp in the far corner of the room. She sits behind it and sighs as she stretches out her fingers.
“Play for us,” Lorenzo tells her, “and don’t fuck it up. Do well and you’ll be our new talent slave.”
Olivia was the talent slave before, a pianist. Olivia had the same turn of luck as I did. We each had a monster fall in love with us.