Chapter 29

CHAPTER

TWENTY-NINE

Anya

O n Monday at the office, I'm still thinking about the incident at Rusty's. I have no idea what came over me. All I know is that when Saverio pushed me into the bathroom and locked the door, I got my first taste of a forbidden thrill. And I found it delicious.

The need that burned in his pale blue eyes as he stared at my body went like a drug to my head. As in the shower, he unknowingly showed me how much power I have, and wielding that kind of power over a man like Saverio left me lightheaded.

Despite our situation, one in which I'm the captive and he the keeper, the knowledge empowered me. Saverio makes me feel desirable. Instead of making me feel like a powerless prisoner, he makes me feel strong.

But it's when he unzipped that I lost all reason. When I looked at him standing there half-naked with that fierce light in his steely eyes, I was lost. I forgot about decency and proper behavior. For once, I wanted to be debauched and daring. Ruined. Defiled. I wanted to be adventurous and fearless, and Saverio made it easy for me. He looked every bit the dangerous gangster, a man who favors extravagantly expensive clothes and subtly humble jewelry like that cheeky gold hoop in his ear. I didn't even have to be snarky and witty or naughty and seductive. I could just be myself, a woman who always chooses the safer, straighter path, because he likes the good girl in me. He likes me exactly for who I am.

Maybe he gets a kick out of corrupting me. I can't deny it excites me too. No man makes me feel as good about myself as Saverio does, and it's not only physical.

The thought is terrifying. It's wrong on so many levels. Because he's my captor. My kidnapper. I'm nothing but a hostage he holds against my will. I'm acting out a role for him, and he's only playing his part in our performance.

Admittedly, he's playing that part as he tackles everything in life—with utter perfection. Almost too convincingly. In the heat of the moment, he makes me forget that it's not real. Because our chemistry is real. When he puts his hands on my body, he reduces me to a carnal being who answers to the baser, animalistic instincts of human nature. When I'm with Saverio, my body rules over my mind.

If he drags me into a public toilet right now, I'd do it again. If he locks the door and turns to me with a look of reverence and naked desire etched on his perfect features, I'd let him take anything he wants. Worse, I want him to take things I never gave to anyone. I want him to make me do perverse acts that will normally have me question my sanity, because with him, there's no shame or guilt. With him, I'm free to be myself.

How ironic is that? He's both my jailor and my liberator. In one sense, he locks me in. In another, he sets me free.

It's confusing.

At the same time, it makes sense. Saverio takes what he wants without making excuses. He's unapologetically savage and depraved. In a strange way, it's liberating. Unlike Evan, he doesn't pretend to be someone he's not, at least, not with me. He's not afraid to show me his real face, the one he doesn't show the world, but I should never forget what a masterful manipulator and actor he can be. He demonstrated it so well with how easily he wrapped Livy around his finger and how smoothly he lied to the police. He may make me feel good—amazing even—but the petrifying truth remains.

He'd kill me as easily as he'd fuck me.

That's why I have to keep my head and play clever. I can't let my guard down. I can't rely on anyone but myself to stay safe. I have to fight for my baby. She only has me. I'll protect her until my last breath.

My phone rings, making me jump and pulling me from my thoughts.

It's Tersia. I normally don't take personal calls at work, but as it's my tea break, I walk to the kitchen and swipe the button.

"Hey," she says in a chirpy voice. "Are you free for lunch?"

"I only have an hour."

"Perfect. One o'clock?"

"Um, I suppose?—"

"Text me your work address. I'll find a restaurant close by and drop you a pin." I'm still contemplating the logistics when she hangs up with, "See you in a bit."

I make a cup of tea and carry it back to my desk. For the rest of the morning, I capture data. It's a mundane job that doesn't need accountancy skills. Mr. Lewis trusted me with much more complicated tasks, but since Ms. Price took over the work distribution until a new CEO is appointed, she only allocates the most basic responsibilities to me.

At lunchtime, I walk to the address Tersia pinned in my maps app. She waits at a window table in a cozy coffee shop not far from the market.

She waves when she notices me.

"I'm so glad you could make it," she says, getting up to hug me when I reach the table.

She looks stylish in a loose-fitting navy jumpsuit with a sash that ties on the hip. The yellow cashmere sweater and pleated skirt pants I wear—clothes Saverio bought—must make it seem as if we shop at the same designer stores and therefore move in the same circles. Will she still want to hang out with me if she knows my history? By not being honest, I'm deceiving her, and I feel terrible about that. Maybe it was a mistake to come, but I'm here now. It's too late to ponder the wisdom of letting her bulldoze me into a lunch date.

I take off my coat and hang it on the wall hook before taking a seat. "Thanks for inviting me."

"I had an appointment on Greene Street, so I thought I'd drag you away from work for a break." She picks up the menu. "Besides, we didn't have much time to chat after the class. You left in a hurry." She grins. "I guess it was the video. Poor Saverio was as white as a ghost." She signals a waiter. "Will their house special do? The gourmet panini with roasted peppers and caramelized onions is delicious. Don't let the peppers and onions put you off. As long as they're grilled, you don't have to worry about getting bloated." Rolling her eyes, she continues, "It's one of just a hundred or so pregnancy side effects, right?"

I'm almost out of breath on her behalf after that rapid-fire speech, but her enthusiasm is contagious. "That sounds good."

"Two specials, please," she says when the waiter arrives. "And two virgin mojitos." Winking at me, she adds, "We deserve them." Then calling after the waiter, "Oh, and we only have forty-five minutes."

"Wow," I say. "You're so energetic. I'm envious."

She takes a bread roll and bites into it. "I've always been hyperactive. It drives Richard nuts." Laughing, she adds, "Most other people too. It's a good thing I work alone."

My curiosity is piqued. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a digital artist." She takes a glossy business card from her bag and pushes it over the table. "I have a studio at home, but my agent thinks I should rent a bigger place where I can exhibit." She wiggles her shoulders. "No thanks. I have no ambition to run a public showroom. I'm happy for her to exhibit my work at galleries. What about you?"

"Nothing as interesting as you. I'm an accountant, or rather, I hope to be one. I'm still on probation at the firm where I work."

She sighs. "Sadly, I'm a zero when it comes to numbers. I can't even do the calculations for halving a recipe right. It's a good thing Richard is the cook in our house."

My smile comes naturally. "So is Saverio."

"Now, that guy is protective of you. I've never seen a more attentive man. I mean, who swaps cushions with his girlfriend because his is thicker?" She waves a finger at me. "You better hold on to that one."

I'm uncomfortable about letting her buy into our lie. If I felt bad before, now I feel worse.

"What does he do, by the way?" she asks.

"Saverio?" I think quickly, remembering what I read online and what Livy said. "Software development."

The waiter arrives with our order. He sets everything on the table and leaves after we decline dessert and coffee.

I drag my drink closer and take a sip.

"Richard is a lawyer. He specializes in criminal law." Tersia adds jokingly, "If you're ever in a pickle, you know who to call."

I nearly choke on the mojito.

"Have you done any baby shopping?" she asks.

"I haven't had time."

"We should go one weekend when you're not busy. Richard plays golf every Saturday. He says most deals are made on the green, but he's just addicted to winning." She cuts her sandwich in half. "It's all about the power. Many successful men are like that." Flashing me with a grin, she continues, "I'm sure you relate." She takes a big bite of her sandwich and says with a full mouth, "It's good, right?"

"Delicious," I admit.

We chat a little more about her art and the gender reveal party her mother is planning. When it's time to get the check, she insists on paying, saying that the next one is on me.

Since I don't stay after hours any longer, I haven't seen Zack for a while. Knowing how much he likes cinnamon rolls, I buy half a dozen at the counter before leaving.

As Saverio is covering my and my mom's living expenses, I have money to spare for the first time in my life. Still having some left from the advance Ms. Price gave me, which I was going to use to pay for lunch, I decide to spend it on something frivolous, a luxury that's not a necessity, just because I can. The bookstore next door has a poster in the window advertising a new bestseller horror novel. I get a copy and put it with the rolls and a note on the desk in the lobby where Zack will find them tonight.

When I get upstairs, a stack of filing waits in my in-tray. Sadly, Jasmine's prediction was wrong. Ms. Price never forgave me for taking time off. In retrospect, she's probably punishing me for lying in my job application. She still sends me to the archive room to file or retrieve documents.

I put my bag in my desk drawer and sit to finish capturing the account data.

Jasmine looks up from her screen. Motioning at the mountain of paper on my desk, she says, "Price said that's urgent." She pulls a face. "You really pissed her off good. What did you do this time?"

I blow out a sigh.

"Yep." Jasmine starts typing again. "I'm glad I'm not you."

The quicker I do this, the quicker I can get back to the numbers.

"Good luck," Jasmine calls after me as I leave with the papers in my arms.

The filing clerks no longer look up when I enter the vault. My presence became a constant here. I get to work, quickly arranging the invoices and receipts in alphabetical and date order in divider files. When I'm done, I load everything on the trolley and push it toward the shelves with the boxes between K and L.

One of the clerks crosses the aisle just as I get to the corner. I pull the trolley hard, braking before I slam into her. The momentum tips the trolley forward, the wheels turning at ninety degrees. Papers fly everywhere. The neatly stacked piles slip off the side and land on the floor.

"I'm sorry," the woman says, her expression aghast as she looks at the papers littering the tiles.

"No, I'm sorry. I thought I was going to run you over. This trolley is heavy. You could've been hurt."

She turns in a circle, taking in the chaos with dismay. "Do you want me to help you gather this?"

"It's okay. I've got it."

She seems relieved. "I'll let you get on with it then."

Her heels clack over the floor as she hurries away.

There goes two hours of nothing. Redoing everything is going to put me a day behind on my deadlines. Despondent, I go down on my knees. It's no use crying over spilled milk. I'll just have to clean up the mess and start from scratch.

Already dreading the task, I scrape papers together. When I straighten to put a stack on the trolley, my gaze falls on a box in the middle of the shelf that's sticking out. Tucked between the other boxes, it's tipped onto one corner, looking as if it's balancing in the air. The boxes are in a section that dates from three years back, which means they're sealed. No one needs to access them unless there's a tax investigation or an account dispute.

A few stepping stools are stacked throughout the room to give access to the lower boxes. Higher step ladders are available for the boxes at the top. Fetching a stool from the end of the aisle, I climb onto it and pull the box down. Fingerprints mark the dust on the top. The seal is broken. Someone opened the box recently.

I glance over my shoulder, my pulse quickening as I wiggle off the lid. Dividers are organized by labels inside. I walk my fingers through the alphabet, going through the papers. An envelope is pushed into the middle. I pull it out, frowning as I turn it over. The envelope is sealed, but nothing is written on it.

The voices of the clerks reach me from their desk at the other end of the room. My heart beats in my throat as I tear the envelope open and peer inside. It contains a key with a tag attached to it. I turn the envelope upside-down, letting the key glide onto my palm. Warning bells go off in my head not only because of what I may find but also because the women's voices have gone quiet.

I turn the tag over with a trembling hand.

"Anya," the chief clerk calls. A chair scrapes over the floor. "Do you need a hand?"

Mr. Lewis's name is written on the tag in his handwriting. I'll recognize that scribble anywhere. I often typed up his notes.

"Anya?"

Footsteps fall hard on the floor.

It's a strange key with three cylinders on the end. I've never seen anything like it. It must fit into a very specific kind of lock. I close my fingers around the key, the blood gushing in my ears as I realize what I hold in my hands.

"Anya," the clerk says, her voice coming from closer.

This is what Mr. Lewis did in the vault on the night Saverio killed him.

"Anya, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I call, slipping the key into my pocket.

I fit the lid with unsteady hands and push the box back into its place before clambering off the stool. I'm barely on the ground when the clerk appears.

She eyes the destruction around me. "What are you doing? Why didn't you answer me?"

I place a hand on my brow. "I got a little dizzy." I don't even have to act. I'm still shaky from my discovery. "I had to sit down for a while."

She scrutinizes me. "You're pale."

"Low blood sugar," I say with a tremulous smile.

"Get this mess cleaned up and call it a day in here. I'll tell Ms. Price you'll finish the filing tomorrow."

"Thanks," I say, crouching to pick up the papers.

I don't look at her again lest she sees the guilt on my face. I don't stop until her shoes disappear around the shelf. Only then do I sit back on my heels and drag in a breath to steady the erratic beating of my heart.

Mr. Lewis knew there was a possibility that Luigi would come for him. Saverio and Giorgio must've delivered a warning on that day they visited him at the office. He prepared for such an event. That's why he carried a panic button with him. It didn't save him though. But why did he hide the key, and what does it unlock?