Page 88 of Dance with Death

Chapter 21

Anya

Time passes bothslowly and quickly in this particular level of hell. I can hardly believe it’s been two and a half months since I last saw Ezra at the Leblancs’ estate; two and a half months since I last tried to end my life.

The few text message exchanges we had are the only thing that keeps me going. It’s the only bright spot in the darkness of what my life has become. Even so, day by day, little by little, my strength is waning.

The battery on my phone is dead and I won’t get lucky twice. I’d only been able to charge it the last time by risking everything. I had smuggled the phone from my box to his room when he took me one night. I plugged it into Vigo’s charger when he left me locked alone in his room—Renata had come to him with an urgent need before he began his playtime with me. He hadn’t injected me with his paralytic agent yet, and I was so damn lucky his charger even fit in the cheap, basic phone Kostya had smuggled to me.

My last exchange with Ezra had taken the battery life down to fifteen percent, so it’s off and hidden beneath my mattress. It’s just enough to have one more text exchange before the next quarterly meeting in a few weeks—when, hopefully, I can see my Ezra again.

I desperately need to see him because I think about ending my life daily. Some days I curse myself for promising Ezra I’d wait, that I would stay alive for him. But because I promised him, I try to keep my word.

It’s past sunset and I haven’t eaten today, but there’s a buffet table in the piano room covered with platters of various finger foods. My mouth waters to see it as Vigo brings me and Bianca, the girl from the middle box, inside the open space. The girl in the first box died.

At least, I think she died.

He took her one night last week and she never came back. He hasn’t replaced her, so that just leaves me and Bianca. It’s not a comfort to have Bianca living beside me in this torment. She hates me because I won’t entertain the idea of working together on an impossible escape plan. She has more hope than I do and sometimes I feel jealous for that. Her disdain for me only adds an additional layer of discomfort and unease to our shared slavery.

The black, grand piano that sits in the room beside the entrance of the Vittori home reminds me of the one in the dance studio at Mikhailov Manor—the piano that was never used, but sat there simply for appearance.

Olivia, the Vittoris’ talent slave, stands beside the grand instrument with her hands demurely behind her back. Her eyes focus on a spot on the floor, her head bowed in servitude. She looks much healthier since Lorenzo has started to care for her. Vigo undoubtedly treated her as horribly as he treats me when she was his responsibility.

I think it’s lucky for her that Lorenzo has taken an interest. I think he loves her. I can only guess, based on the way he looks at her, and I’m not entirely certain that she loves him back. Though she’s healthier now in Lorenzo’s care, there’s no telling how he behaves with her behind closed doors.

She’s still a slave.

Renata stands beside the buffet table, selecting an appetizer and popping it into her mouth. She says something to her collared slave boy, and he opens a bottle of champagne sitting on the tabletop. It pops when he uncorks it and my body jerks at being startled.

Vigo stops, spinning around to face me and Bianca. My eyes beg me to linger upon the sight of nourishment just ahead of us, but I force my head to bow.

“You’re here to watch our talent slave rehearse. She needs an audience for practice,” Vigo says. “Help yourself to food and drink, then sit on the couch so she can start. Go.”

Neither of us wait for a second command. There’s food and I’ve been given permission to eat. Wasting no time, I head over to the table and lift a small plate to fill with appetizers. This might be my only meal for a while, and my appetite has been especially voracious as of late. Normally, I could trick my mind away from focusing on the emptiness of my belly, but that’s been harder and harder to do as of late.

I don’t bother with a drink—water has been regularly supplied to us, so I’m not concerned with thirst. When my tiny plate is stacked full, I rush to the couch to sit and unceremoniously shovel food into my mouth.

The rest of the group settles on the couch and the armchairs beside it. Vigo plants his ass next to me with his hip touching mine. I wish to recoil, to pull away, but I’m already pressed as close to the armrest as I can be. He reaches to take a bite from my plate, plucking a morsel away and shoving it between his lips before I can protest.

Internally, I seethe.

I turn to glare at him, my eyes cold and hard, but he just smiles at me as he swallows.

I have never loathed someone as much as I loathe Vigo.

Lorenzo appears at Olivia’s side and she turns to face him as he touches her arms gently. She tucks a strand of her straight, golden-blond hair behind her ear and her cheeks flush pink as she bows her head toward him.

He taps two fingers under her chin and she lifts. I can’t hear what he says to her, but whatever it is elicits a tiny, cautious smile from her. It’s so subtle, I can hardly call it a smile, but it’s there.

It makes my heart ache for the way one touch from Ezra, one look, one word, could melt the entirety of my icy exterior and turn me into someone evenIdidn’t recognize. One moment with him could bring all the best parts of me that I’ve hidden away for so long to the surface.

He makes me better when I’m with him.

It’s painful the way I have to miss him now.

With Lorenzo’s encouragement, Olivia moves to sit at the piano bench. He steps away, moving to stand behind the couch as Olivia begins to play. The piece she’s selected is somber. The music is melancholy and hauntingly perfect—an eerie soundtrack for the nightmare of my life with the four families.

I only really listen for a few eight counts because my stomach aches, growling at me to focus on shoveling the food inside. I feel as though I could eat and never stop. I suppose it’s the forced fasting that makes me feel this way, but God, it feels like I can never get enough to eat.

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