Page 53 of The Crimson Lily

He does as I say, and I approach the scene of torture.

William turns his unrecognizable face to me, his hollow eye judging me, the other wishing me dead.

The pieces of ripped skin and open cuts all over him make him look like a sick and lamentable corpse.

I could end his misery right here. Give me a beretta, and I’ll do it right now.

“How could you?” William cries. “I gave you a home!” he rasps.

“It wasn’t a home, William,” I rebuke, my voice heavy. “It was a golden cage.”

Because that’s what it was. William may have pulled me out of the Springfields’ grasp, but he made me pay for his grace each and every time. They were small tasks at first. Steal this. Take this duffle bag somewhere. Send this package there. Seduce this crime lord because he owes us big money.

Then it became more serious. Go with William to Europe. Do the Syndicate’s work there. Show these men around town; they only traffic women anyway! Let’s go to Russia. Keep this safe.

“I gave you a home, Liliana, and this is how you repay me,” my big cousin whines.

My eyes must have flared for real because Maksim cautiously checks on me.

“Give me the blade,” I call to him. “Let me finish him.”

“The blade stays in my hand,” he declares.

I agitate my hand so he’ll give it to me. “Please,” I urge, blinking with impatience.

But Maksim sternly stands his ground. “This is my job, Liliana, not yours.”

He gives his attention back to William and moves to gouge the second eye. William screams in fright, struggling frantically with the cuffs, his wrists trembling and breaking on themselves.

Maksim halts, his smile even wider. “You can keep this eye if you tell us the truth.”

“Fuck you!” William jerks.

Maksim punches him hard in the chest. The chair loops backward and crashes on the ground with William in it. Both his wrists snap upon landing. Maksim comes to stand above him, a foot pressing down on William’s throat.

“Did you give the key to anyone else?” Maksim presses and releases his victim’s throat.

William coughs and cries. I can see the sparkles of his tears among the red veins of blood.

“I’m a dead man in any case,” William murmurs. “If you let me go, the Syndicate will come for me.”

“The Syndicate is dying,” I contest, looking straight at his slouched body on the cold concrete floor.

Yet William laughs in response. “Oh, Liliana, you may have won this battle, but the war has just begun. You won’t get far with one lord and a damn list of names.”

“We’ll get somewhere,” I rebuke and turn back to face Maksim. “He didn’t share the algorithm,” I deduce.

Maksim raises his chin to me, ready to listen to my reasoning.

“Why would Margaret Rose come all this way if he had?” I dispute. “Why would a Syndicate lord risk her freedom if William de Loit had shared the prized secret already?”

My cousin rolls his head on the ground and laughs, vanquished. I figured it out. There it is, my confirmation, hiding in his crazed laughter.

I’ve had enough of this. I look into Maksim’s eyes and give him a firm nod of I’ll leave you alone. I turn around and head for the door, hearing William’s screams behind me, resisting the urge to peek.

Outside, I find Giovanni, who notices how pale I look and gapes at me like he’s just seen a ghost. He takes me to see the Kinzhal Strastey while Maksim finishes his work .

I need a distraction from the terror of what I just saw.

I never knew I had the stomach for torture.

I’m not sure how I feel right now, so I let the numbness blanket me and keep me sane.

I think there’s a word Doctor Rossi or Doctor Gully would use for what I’m doing: compartmentalizing.

A few stairs up, and we reach the ground floor. Ah! There they are—windows! I can see the outside and realize how late it is already. I’m not sure where we are or if we are even in Rome.

We pass multiple men in suits or leather jackets, who carry briefcases or weapons or both. It feels like a Men in Black movie, only with a much less sympathetic cast. We make it to a vault-like room where the dagger rests out of its glass box on a small metallic table.

I cast a delicate glance at the blade and brush my fingers multiple times over the engraved code that has cost me so much already. So much of myself.

“We need to act fast to destroy it,” Giovanni advises. “Before your man gets back.”

“Let’s not destroy it,” the archaeologist in me finally speaks. “It’s a valuable piece of history that should remain intact.”

Giovanni gives me an uncertain frown, so I smile softly to ease the mood.

“Do you happen to have sandpaper?” I check.

I get my piece of sandpaper about ten minutes later. I would have hesitated under normal circumstances because I’ll still be damaging that beautiful artifact, but Maksim will be back soon, and I don’t want him to see what I’m about to do.

I feel bad as I scrub the blade as meticulously as I can, like I’m betraying Maksim’s trust. However, I know this is for a good reason.

A fate-of-the-world kind of reason. Even if the Bratva doesn’t plan on doing anything with the access key, everyone will be safer that way.

What a noble cause, I think to myself, but in reality, I just want to go home and bury my head in bed for the rest of my life.

“Where is your boss?” I ask Giovanni to distract myself from this feeling of guilt that I’m doing something wrong.

He simply looks at me with rounded eyes, unsure of what I’m getting at.

I clear my throat next. “Your boss, the capo or something. They should be somewhere around here?” I say, a big cheeky smile on my face.

I made Giovanni chuckle. “My capo is here, yes. The big boss is…somewhere else.”

Understood, Giovanni. I won’t ask any more questions.

I finish my work down the Kinzhal Strastey’s blade, wiping any trace of code that can be deciphered.

Only I will ever know what’s actually written on there, that string of letters and numbers that wouldn’t make much sense to a human.

I’m the only one alive who knows. Once I’m done, it’s as if nothing ever happened.

Like nothing was ever written there. The blade is as smooth as a baby’s skin.

The Bratva can do what they please with the dagger, Catherine’s Dagger of Passion, and sell it around for millions of dollars.

Maksim joins us outside the building, where I stand with Giovanni and Chiara in the parking lot of this massive block of concrete.

It looks like a big warehouse from down here.

Chiara joined us a few minutes ago, back to her old self with her leather jacket and beanie.

Giovanni hands my Belarusian man the plastic box that contains the dagger of glass.

I notice the victorious flicker in Maksim’s eyes, the spark of a successful mission, then a glimpse of worry settles in my heart. The mission is over. Does that mean Maksim and I are too? I want to hush my distress, but it’s persistent, and it is judging me.

A big black car rolls by and halts before Maksim and me. It’s time to say goodbye. I turn to Giovanni, who invites me to shake his black leather glove.

“I doubt that we’ll meet again, Liliana,” he says.

“I doubt it too,” I respond.

“It was a pleasure. Good luck with the delivery.” He winks at me, possibly referring to our little secret.

Instead of going for his hand, I take a step forward and lead him in my arms for a big Italian hug. I like Giovanni. I think that, in another life, we could have been good friends. But this is business, and I know I’m never going to see him again.

I shake Chiara’s hand and thank her for her part in this.

Her big brown eyes meet mine, and I figure, at that moment, that she will be on her way and disappear.

I briefly wonder if she’ll go back to being the art reporter she originally was.

I even wonder if she ever was an art reporter, or if that was a facade all along.

I don’t really know where we’re headed next. Maksim and I sit silently in the car, only our synchronized breathing animating the area. My arm still hangs in its sling. Both our faces are still bruised. We make a wonderful couple.

We pull over at the Grand Hotel Flora and rush to our room.

I take a few steps toward the main window to linger upon the view of the sunny Porta Pinciana for a little while.

Maksim comes to a standstill behind me. His hands do not touch me.

I’m not sure he’s even looking at me. Will he do something, or is this really it?

I turn around to search for his bright-blue eyes.

Mine are quickly filled with tears as the events of the past three days slowly come crashing down on me.

I just look at him, sniffling frantically, my mind rolling horrible images of him telling me the mission is over and it is time for him to leave.

The picture that really sticks in my brain is of my Maksim, a hand on William’s bloody face, ready to inflict unimaginable pain.

I saw Maksim in his true form today. The demon with sharp teeth and glacial eyes.

I’m not sure if I’m intrigued or dead afraid.

Maksim simply looks at me, a silver glow in his eyes.

“You wanted to see,” he defends. Of course he notices my struggle, the effect of the realization that Maksim is a sadistic killer.

Maybe it’s my hand trembling, or the look in my eyes, the look of prey about to be devoured.

Regardless, Maksim can read me like an open book.

I purse my lips before speaking. “Do you enjoy it? Do you enjoy torturing people?”