“Don’t turn what I just said into a brand-new problem for you,” he said. “Consider this. I’ve been watching you take yourself way too seriously since the day I met you. You can see with your own eyes how much my enthusiasm has wilted. Go on, look. Touch, if you want.”
She snorted, her mouth twitching. “I said, stop it.”
“Hah! Success!” he crowed. “I’ll do anything for a laugh from you, even humiliate myself by sporting a boner in evening wear. Slap a red clown nose on me and watch me go.”
“You are the furthest thing on earth from a clown,” she said.
He grinned. “That’s not true. You’re further, so the job falls to me by default. Laughter is a great tension reliever. Almost as good as sex. I guess if I can’t make you laugh, I can make you come. You’re so covered.”
She snorted helplessly into her hand. “Oh, God, stop it, you’ll make my makeup run. It always comes back to sex, doesn’t it?”
“It goes there on its own. No conscious help from me, I swear. Who can blame me, when you’re wearing that dress?”
“By the way, you never told me what this dress said,” she pointed out. “You just said it was a winner. Didn’t it talk to you, like the others?”
She was trying to play along, to lighten up, like he wanted, but the glance he cast at her was surprisingly somber. “Sure, it talked to me. It said, ‘There is a God.’ ”
Her face went hot. “Sam,” she whispered. “You’re overdoing it.”
“And you need to work on accepting compliments.”
“Maybe I do, but not right now,” she said. “I think we’ve arrived.”
Sam slowed at the wrought-iron gates, set in a high stonework wall. The road swirled in curving switchbacks up the hillside, through perfectly manicured grounds and terraced gardens toward the Villa Fenice, a ducal palace on the top of the hill.
The sun had set, leaving a fiery streak on the horizon that faded up to violet and then to deep cobalt blue. A single star glowed on the horizon. They drove into a rotunda that circled a fountain, a cluster of winged marble angels pouring water from urns, their dimpled limbs in a complicated tangle. A fragrant profusion of flowers bloomed everywhere. The air was heavy with their scent. The rotunda was full of high-end automobiles and uniformed staff driving them away.
Sam helped her out, gave his keys to an attendant. They strolled toward the entrance. The building was creamy white stone that had absorbed the sun’s heat all day and now seemed charged with power and radiating trapped energy. Torches flickered in sconces that flanked the entrance and the mirrored double staircases. There were no artificial lights. Sam took her arm, leading her across the flagstones and up the massive marble steps.
She spotted Hazlett in the arched entrance, across the wide expanse of marble paving stones. He hurried toward them. He was even more tanned than the last time she had seen him, and seemed far younger than his forty-eight years. She felt the subtle tension from Sam ratchet up, thrumming through her arm and into her body.
“Svetlana,” he said. “I am so glad. In spite of everything, here you are. Nothing can keep you down. You are an inspiration.”
“Michael,” she murmured, wondering frantically what to do with her hand, because Hazlett was not letting go, and his grip was tight, and hot. And now he was patting her with his other hand. Trapped.
He utterly ignored Sam’s presence.
Sam stood there quietly at her elbow, sizing him up.
“Sam, this is Michael Hazlett, my new employer,” she said. “Michael, this is Sam Petrie. I told you about him.”
“Ah, yes.” Forced to acknowledge him, Hazlett’s glance flashed over Sam. “The one who rode to your rescue? The famous Mr. Samuel Petrie, the Illuxit Foundation’s new mystery donor? You caused quite a stir with your gift.” He did not release Sveti’s hand to shake Sam’s.
Sam just looked at him. “You’re the founder of Illuxit?”
“Yes.” Hazlett flashed his teeth. “Biopharmaceutical development and commercial outsourcing. One of the biggest worldwide.”
“So, essentially, your company organizes clinical trials for new untested drugs in third world countries? Have I got that right?”
“Among other things,” Hazlett said. “We’ve helped develop some of the most important, top-selling drugs on the market, but I’ve recently stepped down from direct leadership. It’s time for Illuxit to give back, so I’m concentrating on the Illuxit Foundation. Most specifically on initiatives to combat trafficking, and funds to help the victims.”
“Yeah, I read up on that before I donated,” Sam said. “It looked well organized. Particularly now that she’ll be associated with it.” He jerked his chin in Sveti’s direction. “She’ll set you all straight.”
“Oh, yes,” Hazlett said with a big smile. “She’s unique. So utterly focused and rigorous. That’s what we need. She has an almost . . . well, a cutthroat quality, I might say, for lack of a better term.”
Sveti winced. “There must be a better term.”
“Consider it a compliment.” Hazlett’s teeth flashed. He turned back to Sam. “I watched that video of the slavery ring exposé, and I contacted her immediately. She’s ferocious. As unique as she is lovely.”
Sam’s grin looked feral. “Don’t I know it.”
“I’m sure you do,” Hazlett said. “I knew she was the one when I saw her video. That’s my passion, you see. Finding the pressure points. It’s a discipline that applies to any field of human endeavor. Finding the place to poke to make someone jump, or the exact point where medicine must be applied in order to be effective, or the precise place where the money must be spent to make a difference. In this case, Svetlana is the perfect woman. In the right place, at the right time, she could change the world. I’ll be privileged to be nearby and watch it happen.”
The men stared each other down. Svetlana wanted to melt into the ground. “So,” she said tightly. “Shall we go on in?”
“Please, get a glass of champagne,” Hazlett said. “I have a friend coming up the drive whom I must introduce you to. I’ll join you soon.”
Sam and Sveti strolled into the vaulted, frescoed entry hall. It was lit with dozens of candelabra. The warm glow made the arches of cobalt blue sky from the loggia that opened toward the sea intensely vivid. On the terrace outside, waiters wandered with trays of champagne flutes. Both of them refused. Sam gave her a questioning look.
“Why not?” he asked. “It’s time-honored relaxation trick number three. Although numbers one and two are still my favorites.”
She shook her head. “I have to be brilliant tonight, remember?”
“Ah, yes. How could I forget, with Hazlett fawning all over your hand. You’re the perfect woman! Carefully chosen to touch that precise magic place that will cause him to erupt in paroxysms of bliss!”
She glared. “Don’t you dare get into a pissing contest, Sam.”
“I won’t start one, but I won’t back down from one either.”
“Svetlana! Mr. Petrie!” Nadine hurried toward them, resplendent in a stunning teal taffeta gown with a vast, pouffy skirt.
“Call me Sam, please,” Sam said.
She smiled, flirtatiously. “All right, if you insist. Thanks, Sam. Svetlana, excellent choice of dresses! It was one of my favorites, too! It looks stunning on you. Armani is just classic.”
“Sam picked it,” Sveti admitted.
“I’m not surprised.” Nadine looked through her lashes at Sam. “I must run and take care of business. Enjoy yourselves!” She hurried off.
She raised an eyebrow. “You made quite the shirtless impression on Nadine, didn’t you?”
He lifted her hand, kissed it, and kept kissing it. “Who?”
“There she is! Svetlana! Let me introduce you to a friend of—”
Crash. The champagne glass of the tall, salt-and-pepper haired man next to Hazlett shattered on the floor.
The man stared at Sveti, eyes wide. “Dio mio,” he whispered.
<
br /> Sam drew her toward himself. “What the fuck?” he muttered.
“Renato, are you all right?” Hazlett asked. “What’s wrong?”
The man tried to speak, his mouth working. “Per l’amor di Dio,” he whispered. “Uguale. Ugualissimo.”
“Uguale to whom?” Sam asked sharply. “Someone clue me in.”
“Sam?” Sveti clutched Sam’s arm. “What is it?”
“You evidently resemble someone this guy knows, babe.”
Two white-clad attendants appeared, one with a broom, another with a long-handled dust pan. In tandem, they swept up the shards and as swiftly disappeared. More arrived, one with a mop, another with a dry cloth, and a third, holding out a fresh glass of bubbling wine.
The tall guy did not deign to notice. He just kept staring at Sveti. Hazlett waved the champagne bearer impatiently away.
“I’m sorry.” The man’s English had a heavy Italian accent. “Forgive me. I was not expecting—but you’re just so much like her. Your eyes, your lips. It’s extraordinary. I . . . I was not prepared.”
“Who?” Sam and Sveti asked in unison.
“Sonia,” the man said.
Sveti gasped. Cold sucked on her from below. Her blood pressure dropped. Sam’s arm slid around her waist, strong and bracing.
She rested her hand on it and squeezed, drawing strength from him. There was so much of it to draw. “You knew my mother?”
“Yes.” The older man’s eyes looked shiny. His mouth was set. “We were together. For over a year, before she died.”
“Oh, God.” Sveti’s heart gave a painful thud. “You’re the conte. Renato Torregrossa. With the villa on the sea.”
“Yes. Here, look. I have her photo on my telephone, always. I transfer it over every time that I change phones.” He pulled out his smartphone, thumbed around on it, and held it up to Sveti.
Sveti leaned forward. Yes, it was her mother. Dressed in some flowing white gauze thing, laughing. She was next to Renato, their heads together. Renato had held out the phone to snap a selfie.
Her heart clenched. Grief, and a blaze of raw, childish jealousy. Who the fuck did this arrogant old Italian conte think he was? Having snapped pictures of her mother that Sveti had never seen, sharing days that Sveti would never remember? He had a piece of her that she would never touch. He’d been with her, spoken to her, touched her, more recently than Sveti had. By a year and a half. Bastard.
She clamped down on her emotions. She would not make a spectacle of herself, and be that pathetic crazy girl. Poor thing. She’s been through so much, you know. Understandable, really.
No. Her jaw ached from clenching. “She told me about you.”
“It’s true.” Hazlett’s fascinated gaze darted from Renato’s cell phone back to Sveti’s face. “The eyes, the mouth.”
Sveti felt Sam’s arm tighten. “Yes, we were very similar. Everyone always said so.” Her voice seemed to come from very far away.
Sam spoke up. “This can’t be a coincidence,” he said, to both Hazlett and Torregrossa. “How do you two know each other?”
“Oh, we’ve known each other for decades,” Hazlett said. “Illuxit has partnered with TorreStark for years. We organized the clinical trials of all of their latest revolutionary cancer care drugs. Renato and I have also been close personal friends for many years. When I turned my attention toward philanthropy, he drew my attention to you, Svetlana.” He patted Renato’s shoulder. “You have him to thank for all this.” He gestured around at the glittering throng, the candlelit hall.
“Ah.” Sveti’s eyes flicked to Sam. His face was grim. “Well, then,” she said awkwardly to Renato. “Thank you. I suppose.”
“No need.” Renato wiped his eyes and gave her a brave smile. “It’s the least I could do, for Sonia.” Renato squeezed her hand. “She adored you, cara. She was so proud of you. How you’d come through your ordeal triumphant. How you rose above it. Just magnificent.”
Her jaw throbbed. Who was this asshole, to know about her ordeals? The details of her past were private, to say nothing of her mother’s opinion of them. Mama’s pride and adoration might have been better directed by paying more attention to her daughter.
She could not bring herself to smile. She tried to pull her hand back. Renato clutched it tighter.
“So many times I wanted to approach you,” he said earnestly. “You’re the only person who could understand how unique she was. But I hesitated to contact you. I was afraid to open old wounds.”
Oh, puh-leeze. Her hand shook with the urge to yank it back.
“She is buried in the Torregrossa family mausoleum, at Villa Rosalba,” Renato said. “I could take you there, if you like.”
That information made her vibrate like a plucked string. She had a vague sense of having known that fact, once, and then deliberately forgetting it. She nodded. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I would like that.”
“I’m staying at the Villa Rosalba myself, in fact,” Hazlett said. “Renato is always my gracious host when I’m in Italy. Stunning place.”
“Svetlana, why don’t you come and stay, too?” Renato asked. “It would be lovely to have you! You could see where your mother—”
“No,” Sam broke in.
Renato blinked, his face going blank. He was noticing Sam’s existence for the first time. “I beg your pardon?”
“Sure, you’re pardoned,” Sam said. “But no. She’s not staying anywhere, with anyone but me right now.”
“But I . . .” Renato broke off. “I hope you aren’t insinuating—”
“Nope, not insinuating anything,” Sam said smoothly. “But no.”
“Sam!” Sveti hissed. “Please! Hang on to yourself!”
Sam shot her a look that scared her.
Hazlett put a hand on Renato’s arm. “Svetlana was violently attacked a few days ago,” he explained. “Her companion is feeling understandably protective.”
Renato’s eyes widened. “Santo cielo! I can guarantee that my home would be absolutely secure, however.”
“Why not come by tomorrow?” Hazlett suggested.
“We have plans,” Sam said blandly.
Sveti looked at him, disoriented. “Ah, we have . . . what?”
“Remember?” he said softly. “Our big ice-cream date?”
Oh, God, yes. She pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling queasy.
“Excuse me?” Renato said, his voice chilly. “Ice cream?”
“You are invited to Villa Rosalba, too, Mr. Petrie, of course,” Hazlett said, after an insultingly long pause. “If that is the issue.”
“No, it’s not,” he said. “And I’ll be sticking to her twenty-four /seven, no matter where she gets invited. It’s just that Sveti and I had plans for tomorrow. A little romantic getaway.”
Hazlett gestured at the panorama of sea, the fading streak of sunset, the mountains towering up. “Is this not romantic enough for you?” he said, his voice jovial. “Where are you going?”
“It’s a secret,” Sam said. “A memory from my childhood.”
“Perhaps visiting her mother’s grave might take precedence over your sentimental jaunt for gelato?” Renato’s voice was acid.
Sam’s eyebrows went up. “I suppose it might. Sveti? Your call.”
Oh, great. Put her on the spot. She just looked at him, lost.
“Sveti and I’ll talk about this in private, and get back to you,” Sam said smoothly.
Renato turned to Sveti. “I loved your mother, Svetlana. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to get to know you. So, Michael? Shall we introduce her to the Hallerbachs first, or Lucia Rutigliano? I’ve been working on Conrad Hallerbach all week. At this point, he’s expecting a celestial visitation.”
They swept Sveti off between them with Sam close on their heels.
The evening passed like a feverish dream. Her eyes swam, in the shimmering blur of candlelight. She met so many people, shook so many hands, was kissed on the cheek endlessly. She noticed food and win
e in front of her at one point, but could not eat any. Michael Hazlett recounted her abduction and rescue story to everyone he introduced her to. She felt paraded naked through the crowd, her horrific tale offered up like a calling card. But she kept it together, like always. She felt like a remote-controlled robot, her emotions miles away—but for one.
She was passionately glad to have Sam there. Always a step away, even if he had to elbow some diamond-studded dowager or tuxedo-clad tycoon physically away from her. He’d just give them a sweet, charming smile and stand there, monolithic. Never ceding an inch.
Every time she looked at him, his conspiratorial grin gave her strength. He was her anchor, and her shield. Her private place. One sweet, precious thing that did not belong to these people. It was hers.
No, not just hers. Theirs.
The awards ceremony was the hardest part. Being shy and introverted, she found speaking in public difficult in the best of circumstances, but she’d learned ways to cope. She’d polished a speech weeks ago, before the wedding, Sam, the attack. But the girl who had prepared that speech was a different Sveti, someone she no longer even recognized. She was something raw and torn open now. Utterly new.
She stared down at this expectant crowd and began to speak.
The whole tale. Papa’s punishment, the abduction. Aleksandra, Yuri, the rescue. Her stolen family, her stolen childhood. Her stolen heart, ransomed in the nick of time. She told them what she’d done last year in Portland, and why. It was her job, to be the face of the faceless slaves and trafficked innocents. She offered her experience up like a sacrifice, with all its shock and entertainment value.
They looked up at her, judging and appraising, and she tried not to hate them for it. Stupid, to resent a person for being lucky. For having a father to protect you from monsters who would tear out your heart. For having a mother who would not jump off a bridge. Or get thrown, for that matter.
She used her favorite trick for staying centered as she stared out. She just remembered that each face she saw was once a helpless newborn baby, and that all would one day stand at the doorway of Death, the great equalizer. The gap between her and them was not so wide. And Sam was always there, waiting. Giving her his strength.
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