I find the L and press it. Then the U. C. I. A.
Lucia. My name is Lucia. Then I press the backspace button until it’s gone.
The door opens, bringing in a faint breeze, the softest hint of pine. I breathe deep, the earthy scent making my heart pound. I could run now, while Margo and Mercedes are in the back room. I’d have a couple minutes’ head start on Jorge.
The man who steps inside ruins that hope. He’s bigger than I’d thought from looking out the basement window. But it’s his face that makes me still inside. Devoid of emotion. Severe. I can imagine that expression on his face when he shoots someone in the knee as punishment. When he shoots them while they try to escape.
His gaze meets mine, and I shiver at the flat blue of them, as cold and unfeeling as the concrete walls. For a second I’m unable to speak, unable to breathe.
The stockier man follows him inside, and the spell is broken.
The two men fill the small space more than the desk and chairs could. Their shrewd eyes miss nothing—not the cracks in the walls, not my ill-fitting suit. They exchange a glance that I can’t quite read, except to know they aren’t happy.
The second man’s phone rings, and he turns away, speaking in low tones.
The first man turns back to me. He rocks forward on his heels, a glint of cruel humor in his blue eyes. “Conti. Sebastian Conti. I believe they’re expecting me.”
Margo’s words ring in my ears. The report of her gun blasts through my memories. Welcome to MM Textiles. How may I help you? That’s all I’m allowed to say.
“Welcome to MM Textiles.”
One dark eyebrow rises. “Thanks. And you are?”
I swallow hard. “How may I help you?”
His expression turns hard. “I have a few questions for you, actually.”
I can only stare at him, helpless. Afraid.
Margo’s high-pitched laugh breaks the silence. Her heels click on the concrete as she comes inside, no doubt waiting to make her entrance from the other room. “Oh, I’m sure anything you need to know, I can tell you, Mr. Conti. You’ll find I’m very helpful when I want to be.”
A flash of something dark—dislike? Anger?—flashes through Mr. Conti’s eyes before they crystallize once more. “And you are?”
“Margo Rizzoli,” she says, voice brimming with pride. “I spoke to your assistant on the phone. And this is my sister, Mercedes.”
Mercedes appears behind her, pale beside her vibrant sister. She smiles, more placating than predatory. “So pleased to meet you, Mr. Conti. We were thrilled to hear you’d be visiting us.”
Mr. Conti nods curtly. “Ms. Rizzoli—”
“Please, call me Margo.”
In the pause that follows, Sebastian Conti makes it clear he isn’t to be interrupted. Margo seems to shrink two inches under his electric blue gaze. When he speaks, his voice is mild. “Part of the reason I’m here is to speak with the employees. To get a sense for the place beyond the balance sheets.”
Margo’s smile falters. She and her sister exchange worried looks. “Oh…well, you understand, many of our workers don’t speak English. Most of them, actually.”
Mr. Conti meets my gaze. “I think she does. Am I right?”
The question is clearly directed at me, which means I’m supposed to answer. Except I can’t. My throat seizes up. If you say even one more word, Tia will have a very bad day. Anything I do now would be wrong. I can’t ignore a man as powerful as this. Someone will definitely be punished for his ire. Neither can I disobey one of the sisters.
I manage a short nod, my whole body trembling.
Sebastian Conti studies me with the clinical detachment of a scientist, as if observing a butterfly trying to fly without its wings. Margo and Mercedes remain silent, leaving me to struggle on my own. Even the second man has ended his call and watches me with amused curiosity.
“Welcome…to MM textiles,” I say in a small voice.
“She’s a little slow,” Mercedes whispers loudly. “Part of a charity work program.”
My eyes narrow just a fraction, anger and frustration filling me.
Mr. Conti’s gaze sharpens on me, almost as if he’s gratified.
Please leave, I think as hard as I can.
As if answering my prayers, he nods to Margo. “Show me around.”
Her smile looks brittle, but she rushes to obey, leading him and the other man into the main working area. I know the other women won’t speak, because they’ll be too afraid. Some of them speak English, but they know better than to talk to a man like this.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
At least the charade is over now. Maybe things will go back to the way they were, however depressing that’s been. And maybe I won’t be punished for that awkward moment with Mr. Conti. But I know neither of those things are true.
