Page 61

Abby

“ T he two of you are very close.” Leon diplomatically waits until I’ve wiped away my tears and semicomposed myself before rejoining me on the terrace.

“Yes.” I give him a watery smile. “Thank you,” I say quietly. “I needed to talk to her. Whatever comes, I would have hated facing it without having cleared the air between us.”

He inclines his head politely. “I could also set up a call to your parents, if you wish.” He smiles at my startled look. “It was obvious, when you spoke about them both earlier, how much they mean to you.”

Suddenly I’m fighting back tears for the second time in an hour.

I’ve been trying not to think about that final goodbye with my father ever since we left him on the dock in Bangkok, just like I’ve been avoiding thinking about how Suze is coping with a pack of bikies tramping through her kitchen.

Or about what she must think of me now, after Dad has told her where—and how—he found me.

Even if I was only naked under that hotel robe because I was worried my dress had been bugged, Dad couldn’t possibly have known that. I know how it must have looked to him, what he must have thought.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk to my parents.” I hear myself speak as if from a distance. “I’d rather keep them right out of all this.”

Leon leans forward, hands clasped between his legs. “You said your father insisted on accompanying Dimitry to Thailand to search for you?”

I nod.

“That doesn’t sound like a man who wants to be kept out of the loop. And if you don’t mind me saying so, Abby, there’s no parent on this earth who doesn’t want to hear that their child is alive and safe.”

There’s an edge to his voice, and again I’m aware of a certain hardness in his expression that seems out of character for an art dealer, even one clearly familiar with the black market.

“You sound like you speak from experience.” I eye him covertly. “Do you have children yourself then, Leon?”

“It’s clear that your parents love you, and you them.” He dodges the question with the practiced smile that I’m beginning to find very unsettling. “I can ask Zinaida to get a message to them discreetly, if you’re concerned that they’re being monitored.”

I give him a sideways look. “You seem to be on very close terms with Zinaida. Decorating her club, staying in her villa... setting up a private phone call with my closest friend.”

I look out over the bay, but I’m aware of Leon’s stillness, the way he carefully considers before he answers me.

“Zinaida and I have worked together before. Not just with interior decoration.” He nods at my half-full glass. “Would you like me to refresh that for you?”

“No, thank you.” I face him directly. “How, exactly, have you worked together before? ”

The edge of his mouth twists upward, and I fight the urge to return his smile.

Don’t fall for it, Abby. The fucker is hiding something, no matter how likable he might be.

“As I mentioned to Dimitry earlier, Zinaida runs a foundation that helps rehabilitate victims of human trafficking.” The twisted smile has a definite wry edge.

“You look as surprised as Dimitry did when I told him,” Leon says dryly.

“But I imagine you’ve been close enough to Dimitry’s world that you understand why a woman might cultivate a certain. .. reputation.”

I think of the members of the Stevanovsky clan that I’ve met since Dimitry and I started seeing each other.

All men.

If I think back to when Nico worked with the Cardenas cartel, it was the same then, too. As his girlfriend I was expected to maintain myself immaculately, dress well when we met his clients on yachts at the marina. That was the only role women played in that world.

It’s one of the reasons I fought so hard against Dimitry in the beginning. I wanted to paint, to build a life of my own, not be just the handbag of some bratva soldier.

I still want that.

“Yes,” I say slowly. “I guess I can understand why a certain identity might be important in that world.” I meet his eyes. “But you still haven’t told me how you got to know her so well.”

“Ah.” Leon’s smile stretches slightly. “I’m beginning to see why Dimitry cares about you so much, Abby.

You don’t back down from a challenge, do you?

” He doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing, still smiling.

“Very few people can afford the kind of rare art that emerges on the black market. Often, those who covet such items have an appetite for the forbidden. It isn’t so much the art that they prize, but rather the illicit thrill of acquiring what others can never own.

I’ve sold black-market Rembrandts to men who have never heard of the Dutch Golden Age and immaculate first editions of Tolstoy to oligarchs who will never read War and Peace .

” His smile fades. “Unfortunately, that taste for the forbidden often stretches to human beings, too. Of all the illicit thrills available to purchase, there are those—usually men—who seek out rare humans as much as they do rare art.”

“ Rare humans?” I frown. “What do you mean?”

Leon shrugs. “It can be anything. A particular race or eye color. Sometimes it might be a public figure. That happens more than you might think; there are social media influencers whose sudden rise to fame has nothing at all to do with talent and everything to do with their willingness to remain quiet after being... paid for by such men.”

I’m not surprised, exactly.

But I am disgusted.

And all I can think about are my friends. Of all of them, Lucky may survive without being forced to entertain men, given her programming skills. But Yrsa? Mary?

For both of them, it’s only a matter of time.

Sooner or later, everyone on the scam lines becomes worn out. At that point, they either end up dead or on their back, men and women alike.

I shudder.

I have to get them out of there.

“You asked earlier if I spoke from experience, when I talked about your parents.”

I look up in surprise.

Leon’s smile is entirely gone, and his face is no longer hard so much as it is haunted.

“Fatherhood, I may not know much of,” he says quietly.

“But guilt I know better than most men ever will. If you want to understand why Zinaida and I work together, then that is your answer.” His eyes are opaque, but I can see the pain behind them.

“Guilt is a corrosive, destructive thing to live with. And if you will forgive me, Abby, it seems to me that you are in danger of being overtaken by it.”

My breath catches in my throat, the tangled threads of all the people I am afraid for twining around my chest in a gnarled knot.

Darya. Roman and Dimitry. My parents. Lucky, Mary, and Yrsa.

All in danger, because of me and my mistakes.

Leon is right . From the moment Dimitry burst into that hotel, the knot of guilt has been tightening, drawing those I love ever closer to a fate I feel helpless to prevent.

I know I can’t run again. I wouldn’t do that to Dimitry, even if I could.

But even though I can see a glimmer of hope in the loose plan Dimitry outlined, I know, better than anyone, the true darkness he’d be walking into. I know there’s little chance of success, no matter how well we plan.

Leon’s voice cuts through the black cloud. “I realize that we might not know one another very well, so you can choose to ignore my advice, if you wish. But I hope—very much, Abby—that you might at least allow me to give you the benefit of my own mistakes?”

I nod, words temporarily failing me.

“Tell Dimitry everything you haven’t already.

” Leon’s gray eyes are steady and reassuring, oddly comforting.

“Trust him. He loves you, and he will go into that compound whether you tell him the truth or not. My advice is to be completely honest.” He gives me a half smile.

“Guilt and shame grow in the darkness of silence, Abby. Bring them into the light, and they fade like mold beneath the sun. Work with Dimitry. Because I promise you, whatever guilt you feel now is nothing to the years of regret you will endure if you withhold information from Dimitry which may save him later.”