Page 38 of Auctioned to the Mafia Don
They were wrong.
I know her measurements because someone wrote them down. I know her aliases, her disciplinary notes, the path she took away from the Smotrov name, the year her sister’s death turned patience into a weapon. None of it explains how she looked at me when I touched her throat.
None of it explains why I wanted to do it again.
Omar sighs.
“Don’t say it,” I tell him.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
“I was thinking it loudly.”
“That is safer, for you anyway.”
He almost smiles. Then the moment passes.
“Have extra men assigned to the east gate by morning,” I say. “Rotate the children’s guards every four hours. Quietly. Maya will notice any obvious change.”
“She will notice anyway.”
“Yes. But make her work for it.”
“And her room?”
“Leave it unlocked.”
Omar’s eyes lift. “Still?”
“Especially now.”
“She’ll test it again.”
“I know.”
“She may get farther.”
“I know.”
“You want her to try.”
“Yes, Omar.” I set the file down, frustration rising. “I want to see where she goes when she thinks she has a choice.”
Omar shakes his head once. “Unadvisable.”
“Practical.”
“Those aren’t synonyms.”
“They are in my house.”
He has no answer for that. I dismiss him with a nod, and this time he takes it. At the door, he pauses.
“Stefano.”
I look up.
