Page 34 of Pas de Trois
Chapter 8
Anya
Another night has fallen upon us by the time we arrive at the Vittori mansion off the coast of Italy. It requires a feat of strength beyond measure for me to cross the threshold to enter the home we only just escaped from. I can no longer behave like a slave if I want to remain in the family’s good graces—though to say the graces are good is an exaggeration.
I stay frozen behind my icy shield. I have to hide my panic, my fear, my absolute horror at coming back into this house, and it takes everything I’ve got to put on that brave face.
But I do it.
Somehow, I steel myself and walk inside, knowing that there is no other choice. To save my life—Ezra’s life, my baby’s life—I have to live here in this house like one of them.
I have to be one of them.
I can no longer be Anya Antonov, stolen and captive talent slave to the Mikhailov family. I have to be Anya Mikhailov, bereaved wife of the Mikhailov Head of House.
An entire houseful of Vittoris and extended relatives go from quiet chatter to utter silence as we enter. They stop and stare at us in the foyer. I didn’t expect their quarterly meeting guests to be here when we arrived, but I suppose it makes sense. Family surrounds family when there’s a loss, and I took away their most revered Head of House.
I killed Vigo.
And though I feel a brief rush of pride knowing that I ended the life of my vile abuser, I also know that these people regard me as his murderer.
I’m the killer of their brother, their cousin…their family.
I need Ezra’s strength to bolster me as I face them, but I can’t allow myself to connect with him. Though he’s only steps behind me—his wrists bound in front of his body with a cable tie—there may as well be a mountain between us. I hate this emotional separation that I’ve had to force. I have to freeze him out, shield myself behind a glacial fortress to protect myself from feeling.
Because if I feel everything that’s happened to me, my weakness and vulnerability will seep through the cracks—and these people will smell it on me.
I can’t be weak here.
Renata stops in the open foyer, turning to face me, Ezra, and Lorenzo behind her, just as her loyal slave Luca comes through the throng of guests to be at her side. “Luca, would you be so kind as to show Ezra to his new quarters? Anya’s box in the basement is vacant; he can stay there until he’s trained.”
My mouth automatically opens to protest, but I stop myself, sucking in a sharp breath through my nose. Somehow, I manage to force myself to swallow my rising panic as my heart hammers out of control. I’d rather go back into that box than think that Ezra might be put through the same tortures I suffered here at Vigo’s hands.
Vigo is dead.
I killed him.
He can’t hurt me anymore.
Renata tilts her head as she regards me with an undercurrent of fury and retribution on her mind. “Did you have some objection to that, Anya?”
She knows I care too much about Ezra. It’s why she wants him to stay in the box in the basement. She wants him there to punish me. It’s the only reason she wants him here at all, rather than dead…to torment me. I’m untouchable—for the time being—but Ezra is fair game.
I reason with myself that I need to appear detached and distant when it comes to matters involving Ezra and his treatment. If she thinks it doesn’t bother me, perhaps she won’t torture him in all the ways my abused mind imagines.
Wishful thinking?
I bolster my pride, forcing calm resignation into my expression, though I feel as though I could crumple in fear for the man I love. “Where will I be staying?” I ask.
Her face falls at my lack of reaction. She looks at Luca. His white button-down shirt is open in the front, baring his torso, and he’s wearing his black leather collar as usual. I don’t think he ever takes it off. Renata jerks her head in the direction of the kitchen, and he acts immediately. He grabs Ezra’s arm, tugs him forward, and drags him toward the kitchen where the basement entrance hides behind a normal-looking wall.
Renata’s nostrils flare in frustration as she returns her attention to me. “I’ll show you to your room upstairs. Lorenzo, please tell our family that we’ll join them for dinner tomorrow night to discuss Vigo’s funeral and the new…structure of our business.” Her eyes snap to mine. “Follow me.”
She moves toward the staircase, expecting me to follow her, and there’s a sort of snap inside my soul that tugs my attention to Ezra as he’s dragged away, struggling against Luca. My skin prickles with goosebumps—knowing he’s being taken to that god-awful box—and my heart demands that I let him in, just for a moment, so he can feel that I’m still here with him. My soul demands that he know I haven’t abandoned him, that my spirit remains strong and true behind my shields.
Our eyes connect and mine tell him how much I love him, how much I want him, need him. How I’ll do everything in my power to stay alive and to keep him alive, too. His fight against Luca stops and he nods, the slightest movement of acknowledgment and acceptance, and it unburdens my troubled mind...for now. His eyes tell me to do what I have to do, and he knows I will. Then, he disappears beyond the arched entryway to the kitchen.
His unwavering faith in me is disarming, nearly dismantling my protective walls altogether.
