Page 59 of Sweet Animosity

I knew what that meant in mafia-speak.

Crap.

CHAPTER 22

VIVIAN

After rushing home, I stopped short of my apartment door.

There was music playing.

I didn’t leave any music on.

My hand shook as I carefully tested the doorknob. Locked.

My hand continued to shake so badly that I dropped my keys on the floor.

I stopped to listen.

Would the metal clang make the music stop?

No.

Knowing I couldn’t exactly call the cops and tell them I’m scared of my stereo, I picked up my keys and entered.

Nothing looked disturbed.

The song playing had a pleasant, lilting harmony that was vaguely familiar.

As I carefully searched in each room, under the sofa, and behind the shower curtain, I continued to listen.

The same song played repeatedly.

Then it clicked. It was the Mona Lisa song. The one sung by Nat King Cole, except this version was in a foreign language.

It was in Russian.

With my hand curled into a fist, I slammed it against the stereo button, turning it off.

Opening the fridge, I reached for the bottle of wine from a few nights earlier. Twisting off the cap, I drank straight from it.

As I leaned against my kitchen counter, I considered the options.

Either this was the mysterious Russian retrieval specialist sending me a message that he was watching and impatiently waiting.

Or…

It was Var fucking with me.

He had been out of the office for close to two hours today.

While I thought it was giving me time to search his office, what if he had been here in my apartment doing the same thing at the same time?

At that thought, I turned and rummaged through my new Gucci purse. Once I found my keys, I examined them for any signs of… well, I wasn’t really sure what the signs were for copying a key.

Clay from a secret key mold like in the movies?

Oil from the hardware machine that copies keys?

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