Larissa’s smooth forehead is marred with a frown but only briefly. “It’s late,” she says. “Why don’t we head home and eat there?”

In silence, we leave the hallway and return to our table. Naomi is on her second drink, an empty cocktail glass by her elbow. A pink concoction with a piece of dragonfruit stuck to the rim is pressed against her lips.

Mercy stands behind the bar, watching, but says nothing when we stand up to leave. With a sharp gaze, she watches Larissa approach her and straightens her back as if she’s ready to dig into the other woman.

Larissa holds out her credit card. “We’ve changed our minds. This is for the drinks.”

Mercy rolls her eyes until she catches sight of the card. She reads it and her face pales under the dim lights. It’s the only time I’ve seen her look like this. She waves the card away.

“It’s all good,” she stammers. “Drinks are on the house. Apologies for yelling earlier.”

Larissa smiles sweetly, but I notice the cold gaze in her eyes that makes her look so much like Nikolai. “Good.”

The bar is stone quiet; only the faint sounds of a Mets game can be heard in the background. Larissa waits for Mercy to make eye contact. And when she does, Larissa’s smile drops slightly. But she doesn’t say another word.

Something is going on. Does Mercy know who Larissa is?

I hate being kept in the dark.

My heart pounds as I sit in the back of the chauffeured Mercedes. We’re heading back to the most spectacular prison in Manhattan, and all I want is to be back in the bathroom of that rundown bar. I close my eyes and recall the alarmed expression in Mercy’s eyes.

She knows something.

And if Dad’s in the city, then he’ll know too.

I just hope I didn’t make a mistake.

For all their sakes.

26

EDEN

I don’t dare speakon the car ride back to the penthouse. The Mercedes is filled with boxes and bags from Bergdorf’s, Saks, and Bloomies. My wedding gown sits on my lap in a huge rectangular box that feels heavier than a boulder, dragging me deeper into the depths.

Larissa and Naomi talk nonstop about people I don’t know, and from the sound of it, people I don’t want to know. It’s safer for me to say nothing.

I hope my stupidity doesn’t get Mercy into trouble with Dad. Her opinion of me is right. I don’t know anything about being on my own. I glance over at the two women who are making it seem so easy. Say the right thing. Wear the right clothes.

But it’s not so easy when I do it. And it’s not like I had a crash course on how to live the Mafia life.

Pedestrians cross in front of the car at the red light. One man looks exhausted from his long day. He wipes his forehead on the sleeve of his white shirt as he carries his jacket in his hand. I wonder if he knows how lucky he is to be going home.

As the elevator doors open, I walk back into the private art gallery that is Nikolai’s home.

Dominika helps me carry my bags up to my room as Larissa and Naomi say their goodbyes to me. A few moments later, I am left alone in a penthouse that’s as still as a crypt.

Nikolai is still out doing whatever it is that he does in the middle of the day.

For the first time in days, I finally have a chance to explore my surroundings.

In addition to the art and the panoramic view, fresh flowers are arranged throughout the penthouse, scenting the air with a heady perfume. Dozens of tapers lit in five-foot-tall candelabras flicker in front of the windows, casting a dancing fractured light against the darkened glass.

It’s as if I’ve walked into a fairy tale, and I’m awed all over again by the beauty.

But my heart knows that this is but a veneer of something else. Something far darker, and I’m determined to find the heart of Nikolai’s darkness.

I take my time to look around, and it takes me a moment before I see what seems to be another staircase set apart from the large spiral one that practically forms the centerpiece of the room. Chancing a glance upward and finding no one around, I make my way to the lower staircase. It’s placed so inconspicuously among the various paintings that I almost miss it altogether.