Page 38 of Dance with Death

It feels immeasurably better to point my toes, to let the muscles and tendons extend and stretch—it’s somehow easier to jump and turn. Walking, though, I feel pain where my ankle bends with each step. This staircase may as well have been a mountain for my aching, underused muscles, but I hide my pain and reach the top all the same.

The metal door is open and I step past it into the kitchen. There’s a brief gut reaction that tells me to run, but I’m frozen in place as I come upon Renata Vittori. She’s standing on the opposite side of the bright-white kitchen island. I keep my head lowered, but I look up at her from beneath my lashes.

The woman is wealth’s goddess. She sips a sepia-colored liquid from a short, crystal glass, her free hand pressed to the countertop as she leans upon it. She wears a stunning, cream-colored dressing robe, all silk and long, with deep red outlining the hems of the sleeves. Intricately designed florals of burgundy and deep purple cover the creamy fabric. All she wears beneath is a matching silk red nightgown. Her jet-black hair, which matches her brother’s, falls in pin straight pieces over one shoulder, shiny and clean and perfectly styled.

From her manner of dress, I gather that it’s either late at night or early in the morning. There are no windows in the basement, so time is evasive. Given that she’s drinking liquor rather than coffee, I’m guessing it’s nighttime.

Vigo appears beside me and shuts the metal door, hiding it behind the hinged drywall as Renata greets me.

“Anya. I suppose I should saywelcome. Are you behaving better these days? How long have you been with us now?”

I cast my shadowed eyes sideways toward where Vigo stands, my heart racing, wondering if I should respond, if I’msupposedto respond. It’s the first time I’ve been upstairs since my arrival and I don’t know the rules.

That makes me unsettled more than anything else.

“You may speak when spoken to,” Vigo tells me as he shifts, pressing up against my backside.

His lips brush my shoulder casually as if we know each other, as if we are a couple.

Carefully, I respond to Renata, “Yes. I’ve been here several weeks, I think.”

“Four weeks,” Vigo clarifies.

His hand lands on my hip and he leans into me. I lurch forward with a gasp, my back arching to get away from him, but he harshly grabs both hips and yanks me back.

Taking a sip of her drink, Renata asks with a smug look on her face, “And how is your ankle healing?”

“Better,” I say tersely. “Thank you.”

Renata looks sharply down beside her. “Stop eating, Luca, that’s enough. Up.”

I jerk back in surprise as a young man rises from the floor behind the island next to Renata. I recognize him immediately. It’s the same shirtless, bronze-skinned, black-haired man who brings us our food and drink each day. She called him Luca. He always wears the black collar around his neck, but now there’s a long, black leash attached to the C-ring at his throat. My eyes follow the leash to its end, finding that it’s held in Renata’s hand resting on the countertop. The young man wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands, and Renata reaches out to scruff her hand through his hair.

I swallow hard, trying to take in all that I’m seeing, but I’m struggling to process. They behave as if everything that’s happening is normal, just another day with the Vittoris. The collared boy seems almost content with the way he reacts, leaning into Renata’s touch, dipping to press his lips to the curve of her neck.

Renata’s smug grin widens as she returns her attention to me. “Do you think you will ever dance again? Pity what happened to you. The blond boy that Nikolai selected to dance with you so brilliantly showcased your talents. I thought he was quite appealing.”

I don’t speak at the reminder of Ezra, I just nod. I wish I could tell her that Icandance, that Ihavebeen dancing in my box, that Iwilldance for real again someday. But it would only come out of me with an Ezra-style snarky retort which most likely will get me in trouble so, I bite my tongue.

She turns to face her leashed slave as his lips dip down toward her collarbone. “I hope you two have a lovely evening,” she says as she digs her fingers in his hair, lifting his head and letting him kiss her.

Is the Vittori island on another planet entirely?

Standing here in my child-like blue dress, watching a collared slave boy kiss his female master…It hurts my head to think about how bizarre and awful these people are.

And what bizarre thing does Vigo have planned for me?

Vigo puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me forward, guiding me toward the arched opening up ahead on our left, leading out of the kitchen. Just as well, I feel like I’m in shock trying to understand what kind of rabbit hole of depravity I’ve fallen into.

Vigo shuffles me toward the staircase in the entryway. “Up you go.”

I climb slowly, cautiously holding onto the metal railing that curves with the staircase, up and up to the balcony landing above.

Another mountain I’ve climbed and survived.

He guides me through the arched opening and leads me down a hallway to our right. We pass several doors, some open, some closed, some that are silent, some that carry voices speaking in Italian, a language I don’t understand. Finally, we come to a stop.

Another keypad to gain entry. He unlocks and opens the door.

---