Page 86 of Mercy in Betrayal

“Hello…” I continue down the steps, watching as she turns.

“Oh, hello. You must be Enzo Scarpetta’s wife.”

“I am, yes. Rowan.”

She gestures at the closed door behind her. “My husband is meeting with him.”

“Ah, okay.”

“So, if you’re Rowan, that means you’re friends with Vivi? Vivi Valachi?”

She peers at me, her gaze curiously intent. I still don’t know who she is or who her husband is. Why is she asking about Vivi? “All due respect, one of the things I’ve learned since arriving here is to be a bit less forthcoming with personal information such as that. Why do you ask?”

“I understand, and you are very smart.” She smiles, a dimple flashing in her cheek. The baby echoes the gesture, gurgling up at her and displaying her own dimple.

That dimple…Something tugs at me, but my subconscious refuses to relinquish whatever the memory might be.

“I assure you, I can be trusted,” she continues.

I narrow my eyes on her, even though I’m charmed by her and the infant alike. “Said the spider to the fly.”

She laughs. “Well, in my case, it’s completely accurate.” She holds out a hand for me to shake. “Lulu Papparado, nee Valachi.”

Chapter 31

Vivi

I don’t know what I expected, being the future Mrs. Romanov, but it definitely wasn’t this.

I’ve been confined to my room most of the time since we arrived. In the past week since Ivan brought me here, I’ve hardly seen him. He gave me a single terse set of instructions, asked if I had any questions, and left.

The clock on the dresser chimes the six-p.m. hour, so I take my seat on the padded chair at the vanity and pick up a bottle of perfume. I’ve already smelled each one a dozen times, but I’ll smell them again. Figure out which one I want to wear today…the one with the faint neroli scent or the one that reminds me of vanilla and rum. After a bit of back and forth, I go with the vanilla, dabbing it lightly on my wrists and pulse points.

Ivan requires me to smell nice, look pretty, and be waiting in the foyer when he arrives home each evening.

My closet is full of pretty things, fortunately, since he didn’t let me pack anything to take with me. I head there now, knowing my next order of business in these days that stretch out, one after another, is to simply dress myself.

If something doesn’t change soon, I will go mad.

Stop.

Angel’s face uppermost in my mind, I pick a dress at random, not really caring what I put on. They’re all very similar—expensive, figure-hugging but tasteful, and tailored to fit perfectly.

It’s Angel I think of as I pull a pair of stockings on, careful to avoid snags, and then slip the dress over my head.

Angel’s safety as I slide my feet into a pair of stilettos.

A knock sounds on the door, and a moment later, it swings open. Two men wait for me in the hallway, and I join them. I call them Dumb and Dumber in my head because they never say anything; they merely fall into step just behind me as I walk toward the staircase and begin to descend it, careful in my heels.

I never really wore shoes like this until I came here. I spent a lot of the early hours in my room practicing, and now I at least don’t look like a wobbly giraffe.

As if rehearsed, the front door opens as I reach the bottom of the staircase, and Ivan strides in. I don’t know how he coordinates that timing so perfectly. Does he wait outside, listening for the sound of my heels?

His dark gaze lands on me, traveling from toe to perfectly coiffed hair.

I smile.

His lips thin, a signal of displeasure, and my smile falters.

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