23. Daniela

“It’s easy to manage a fight when you’re standing outside the ring,” Antonio says, sidestepping my comments about feelings entirely.

God forbid anyone overhears us and learns that he actually has them.

“I had no plans to jump in the middle of that argument.”

I’m not sure I believe that. He can’t resist coming to my rescue. “She sees you as a hero,” I say, a bit wistfully.

“And you don’t like that.”

Most people end their questions on an inflection, inviting the listener to respond. Not Antonio. Nearly everything comes out of his mouth sounding like gospel. I’m sure it’s to signal the listener that he doesn’t want a response.

But there’s a touch of bitterness in his tone, too, because he always thinks the worst. I don’t let it go. I want Valentina and Antonio, the two people I love most in this world, to be close.

“It’s not that I don’t like it.” Not exactly. “I want her to be close to you. But the way she thinks about you feels a little maladaptive. Like she’s scared, and counting on you to slay the dragons and make everything better. It’s not healthy. What if something happens that’s beyond even your ability to fix—the disappointment could be crushing. I don’t want her to blame you.”

He comes over and tips my chin up. “I have broad shoulders. I can take it.”

“It’s not just that. I don’t want her to grow up to be the kind of woman who looks to men to save her. I want her to believe she can save herself.”

Antonio gazes at me quietly for a moment. “She’s not wrong, you know.”

I swat his hand away. “About you being some kind of savior?”

He rolls his eyes. “About being stuck here without friends her own age.”

I know she’s right. It kills me that she left her friends behind in the US and has no friends to hang out with here—and she won’t be going to school in the fall, unless something changes drastically. I know what it’s like to be twelve and isolated from your peers. To have no one your own age to talk to, and laugh with, and be silly around.

“Antonio, when is this going to be over? I don’t mean the run-of-the-mill we need to be careful stuff. I mean the increasing danger around us. When is life going to be normal for her?”

“No one wants it to be over more than I do. For all of us. But especially for you.”

He gazes at me for a moment, then takes a step back, rubbing a palm over his jaw.

Something’s bothering him.

“What is it?” I ask, getting to my feet.

He eases a section of hair behind my ear. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

More bad news. God, I hope not.

“Fedorov died last night after he left the lodge.” He rubs his strong hands over my arms, but his voice is devoid of anything resembling sorrow or regret. He’s more concerned with my feelings than he is that a man who we had dinner with last night is dead.

Maybe he wanted him dead. Maybe he’s responsible.

I stagger back and find refuge behind a stuffed chair. But there’s no escaping the pall in the room.

“Did—did you have anything to do with his death?” I don’t expect an answer, but I watch for clues in his demeanor and tone.

“You know better than to ask me a question like that.”

That’s not a denial. It’s chilling.

With my heart pounding, I back farther away, until I’m well out of his reach. I can’t look at him.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he says, prowling closer, “but I never kill anyone without good cause. Your world has a large gray center. My world is very black and white.”

He pauses, scowling. “Fedorov’s car hit a barrier. It didn’t happen at my hand, or on my order.”

He didn’t kill him.The relief courses through me. Antonio is many things, but he’s not a liar. Before I can respond, he turns to leave.

“Antonio.”

He stops, but he doesn’t turn around.

“Thank you. I realize I crossed a line in the sand, but I’m still trying to understand this life. The less I know, the more frightening it is.”

He swivels to face me. “You grew up in this life. You were sheltered from a lot of it, but you’re not a total innocent in that regard. What you’re still trying to understand is me.”

He’s right, of course. I know what drives him. I know that beneath all the layers, hidden behind a concrete wall, there’s a soft heart. But I’m still trying to understand the bounds of his depravity. Although recently, what I fear most is my growing tolerance for it.

“Can I ask another question?”

He snickers. “You already know that your last question was way out of bounds. But as long as we’re alone, you can always ask. We’ve already agreed that it’s your prerogative as my wife. But that doesn’t entitle you to answers. You’ll get them as I see fit—and even then, you might not like them.”

I ignore everything he just said, except, As long as we’re alone, you can always ask. The rest is his way of chiding me because I asked if he killed someone. Nothing more.

“Do you think the car crash was an accident?” Please say yes. Give me a reason not to worry about you all day.

“I need more facts before I think anything. Until I have that information, it wasn’t an accident.”

My heart sinks.

I want to know why someone would kill Fedorov, or if his death is connected to our dinner, but he’s not in the mood to give me answers, so I don’t ask.

“I need to go into the city. When I get home from work, we should talk about Lara.”

“What about her?”

“You shouldn’t have anyone on staff who undermines you with Valentina, or with anyone else. Get rid of her, or I will.”

I can take or leave Lara, but Valentina likes her, and there’s been so much upheaval in her life. “No more changes right now. Lara’s not perfect, but I can deal with her. I could bring in someone else who’s worse.”

“Think about it.”

I have. Long before today, but I keep coming to the same conclusion. “When will you be back?”

“Why? Is that pussy in need of more attention already?” There’s a glimmer of playfulness in his eyes that wasn’t there a minute ago.

I feel my cheeks pinkening. “I think everywhere in that region has had plenty of attention. Thank you very much.”

I close the space between us. “Be careful. There’s something in the air. I can feel it.”

He presses his lips to the top of my head. “Think about letting Valentina go to London,” he says softly. “Not today, or tomorrow, because she shouldn’t be rewarded for shouting at you. But think about it. She’ll be safe at Will and Samantha’s.”

I don’t know. It feels like I’m expanding the distance between us. Although there’s no reason—except for selfish ones—for me not to let her go.

“I realize it’s a short flight on a private jet, but I’m not ready to send her alone.”

“You could go with her. Spend a couple days with Samantha, and then come home. We can go together to pick her up in a week or two.”

I’m running out of reasons to have her stay. Or at least the reasons I keep coming up with are more about me missing her than about anything else.

“The harvest will be early this year,” Antonio says, shifting the conversation. “We’re maybe six weeks away, possibly seven. Some things were put in place months ago, but there’s a lot of preparation still to be done. I host several events, including a gala, and some smaller ones to benefit local charities. I normally hire a party planner who organizes the events. But this year, maybe you can oversee the planning.”

I smile. The harvest and the activities surrounding it are such an important part of our way of life. It’s been years and years since I participated. “I would love to organize some events. I’d also like Valentina to be part of it.”

“Absolutely. But she doesn’t need to be here for all the preparation. While she’s in London, you can use the time to get up to speed on what’s been done and what still needs to be done.”

I nod while a million ideas pop into my head. This isn’t the same as tracking down missing girls, like my mother did, but I can do some good things for the community.

“I have something else for you to think about.”

“Something good, I hope.”

“What if we set up a school on the property for Valentina?”

“A school just for Valentina?” He really is insane.

“No. We could find a few other girls her age to participate. It’s just a thought I had while she was complaining about not having friends.”

His phone vibrates, and he pulls it out. His expression is neutral—a practiced neutrality.

“I have to go. Let me think about it some more, and we can talk about it later. I wouldn’t mention anything to her yet.”

With everything the man has to worry about, he’s thinking of creating a school for my daughter. It’s hard not to love him. I stand on tiptoe and press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s bad luck to leave without kissing your wife goodbye.”

“The problem is that once my mouth is on my wife, there’s never any rush to leave. But I don’t want to buy any bad luck. I tempt fate often enough.”

Too often. Much too often.