Page 24 of Dance with Death

How will he hurt me?

Who will I be when he’s broken me completely?

Ahead, illuminated by the headlights, is a grand, metal gate. It’s framed by two large, stone columns on either side. A letter V is engraved on a circular plate at its center. Moments later, the gate slowly reels open, the V splitting right down the middle.

As we drive through, I turn in my seat to watch it close behind us, noting that a black metal fence extends out beyond the two stone columns on either side. The fencing goes as far as I can see before disappearing into the darkness.

We travel the dirt path, which continues beyond the gate for another thirty seconds or so. Then, the rumbling of the wheels over gravel switches to a smooth and pleasant silence as we shift onto a concrete paved driveway. Turning to face forward, I watch the headlights lead as we follow the path.

Gradually, the Vittoris’ massive home is revealed. We trade concrete for cobblestone as the car turns and passes between two more large stone columns. There are lantern-style lights affixed to the tops, signaling the entrance to their piece of the underworld.

Beyond the lantern-lit columns, the grounds open onto a vast cobblestone square. In the center rests an ornate fountain with three-tiered bowls which rise from the middle. There is no water running through it now, perhaps because it’s the middle of the night, but the stillness of it seems somehow disquieting.

The driver circles the car around the fountain and parks just in front of the main entrance to the mansion. He practically leaps from his seat, exiting the vehicle swiftly to open the door for Vigo. Vigo gets out without a word and I remain still. I have no desire to move.

I’m not ready for this.

I’m not ready for whatever is to come.

Vigo doesn’t care what I am or am not ready for.

The driver arrives at my door and pulls it open. I get out slowly, carefully, begrudgingly, taking care to keep the weight off my injured ankle as I rise to my feet. As I settle my balance, the driver pops open the trunk. He pulls out my silver hard-shell suitcase and places it on the beige and brown cobblestone as Vigo stands beside him, typing furiously on his cell phone. He stops then, putting the phone inside his pocket.

He looks up at me, then to his driver, taking in a breath as if he’s just come back to reality after being lost in cyberspace. I would be perfectly happy to have him ignore me in favor of his phone—anything that keeps his attention off me.

He tilts his head toward my suitcase with a furrowed brow. “You can toss that,” he tells his driver. “She’s a slave. She doesn’t have any belongings.”

Does his driver speak English? He must.

Vigo wants me to understand that I am nothing, that Ihavenothing here. Otherwise, I imagine he would have given that command in his native tongue.

My chest sinks as a heartbroken sigh rushes out of me. I don’t know what’s in that suitcase or if there is actually anything in it at all. But it’smysuitcase andmybelongings. More than anything, this makes me feel worthless.

My pictures of Lidia…Are they in there?

My ballet shoes?

My clothes?

My goddamn pillowcase that smells like Ezra?

Goddammit!

At least with Nikolai I still had pieces of myself. Vigo has taken away my humanity before we’ve even crossed the threshold of his garish home.

I open my mouth to let words of objection tumble out, but I clamp it shut immediately. It’s pointless to argue with a master who cares nothing for me—the heartache and pain it would cause is avoidable and so, I choose to avoid it.

“Si, signore,” the driver says and tosses what’s left of my possessions back into the trunk.

Vigo moves around him, coming in close to me. I manage to avoid stepping back as he invades my space. He straightens, bringing himself to his full towering height, and looks down upon me.

“A few things you need to know before we go inside. Members of my family are addressed with respect. You don’t cross their path or mine. When you’re not in your cage, I expect you to stop and bow your head when you see a Vittori, and wait for them to pass or direct you further.” He tilts his head, reaching out to pluck a strand of hair from my shoulder, and twists it playfully around his finger. “Not that you’ll be out of your cage when you’re not with me. But what you’re doing right now is disrespectful. Bow your head to me.”

I shut my eyes as I lower my head in defeat.

“Good. Now try to keep up. I’m tired and I need to get you settled in your new accommodations before I can rest. Come. Follow me.”

He turns and stalks off with long strides, and dammit, he’s quick. I limp along after him with no hope of catching up. He enters his home through a wooden door set back in an alcove. It’s two steps up onto the landing; two steps that I struggle to hop over beneath the brick-layered archway that beckons us to the front door.

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