Page 9 of The Crimson Lily
Now I have to take her hand in mine. “That would have never worked,” I assure her with my whole heart. “William could have never turned me against you.”
Hearing and saying William’s name, my boss, makes me cringe again. This is the third time the mention of the man brings up this nasty feeling in me.
“I wasn’t sure anymore when you didn’t return my calls,” she says as she closes her eyes.
Now she’s crying, but she soon starts chuckling. Her chuckle turns into a beautiful laugh, like a cheerful dove soaring from ground to sky.
“So, the Bratva got you here?” She can’t even finish her sentence without giggling. She seems in a state of both incredulity and elation.
I start laughing as well. It sounds too crazy to be real. “I know, right? I don’t even remember how I got to this point. I just know it’s all linked to that dagger of glass.”
Béatrice regains her calm. She clears her throat a few times before speaking again. “That’s theKinzhal Strasteyyou’re talking about.”
Oh shit! That name sounds so familiar. It echoes in my mind and triggers my memory center. It’s like a déjà vu, but with words.
“We found it together,” Béatrice adds with a small smile of pride. “We’d been searching for it for months. We found it in a coffin off an excavation site in Siberia.”
I clench her hand with newborn enthusiasm. I have to knowallabout it. I want to hear the entire story. I want to know where it came from and why it’s so valuable. Béatrice leans over, coming closer to me as if she’s going to tell me a secret. I join her, and we are so close we could be kissing.
“The legend goes that the dagger has the power to put people under an undying love spell,” she says with a smile. “They say Catherine the Great came into the possession of the dagger and used it to conquer the hearts of her many lovers. But besides legends, they say that dagger is worth somewhere in the tens of millions.”
It starts to make sense—why the Bratva can possibly be bothered with a dagger of glass. One, it’s Russian. Two, it’s worth millions. Two conditions to make the Russian mafia drool for the relic.
“Something the Bratva can’t let be, I guess,” I say. “But why am I involved, and what is William’s part in all this?”
Béatrice bites the inside of her cheek in hesitation. “I’m not sure, but William was going to negotiate with the Met. I just know you didn’t like the idea of keeping the dagger at Columbia for too long, but I can’t believe you would have made a deal with the Bratva. Not without a good reason, at least.”
“I’m not sure of anything anymore, Béa.”
I’m calling her Béa like I always have. It comes naturally, as if it’s meant to be this way. She smiles, and so do I. Then we stay smiling for a moment of stillness, enjoying this reunion on a beautiful summer day. She finally starts sipping on that cappuccino.
I recline in my seat. “William is in Paris with the dagger,” I say. “I suppose it won’t be going to the Met.”
She raises her eyes to me and detaches her full lips from the cup. “I didn’t know William was here, but if he is, then he’sprobably with his Louvre friends. I know there’s a big reception on Friday with all the artsy people.”
I now realize Béatrice has not been in contact with William, probably since June 16. I do wonder, briefly, if the fact she was fired a day after my accident is a coincidence. It’s as if Béatrice has read my thoughts.
“Liliana…” She says my full name and pauses, hesitant to continue. Her eyes cock left and right to make sure no one is listening, then she leans in closer again. “How sure are you that it was an accident?” she asks, almost whispering.
One answer: I’m not anymore. I shake my head and tell her exactly that. I don’t want to linger on this idea further, so I raise another question. “What are you doing these days, Béa?”
She doesn’t let me divert her attention. “What if the Bratva had something to do with this?”
No—I don’t believe that one bit. Call me naïve, but that isn’t true. “No, they were pretty pissed I’d been in that accident.”
I don’t know if she noticed the bruise, but her gaze has remained the same, so I assume she didn’t. I do see in her eyes that she will not let this one slide easily. She complies and doesn’t ask more on the matter, but deep down, I know she’ll be doing some investigation of her own later.
“Do be careful, Lili,” she advises in a tone that begs me to be cautious. “I don’t want you around these criminals for too long.”
“Well,” I begin with a shrug, “I’m staying alone in the hotel suite, if that reassures you. But I’m not too worried. If they wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be here.”
She raises an eyebrow as a response. Béatrice definitely looks perplexed that I’m not a little shaken by my last words. Actually, she’s probably surprised I’m not too bothered by being here on Bratva’s orders.
“And what about that bruise on your cheek?” Béatrice asks, hesitant but inquisitive.
Ah, she did notice. I don’t want to make her any more worried than she is already, especially since that bruise did come from a Bratva encounter. And especially since the perpetrator came with me to Paris.
“Oh, yeah, I also forgot how to bike,” I bluff with an awkward chuckle. A surprisingly good bluff, actually, because she seems to believe it and relaxes her stance.
