He sees me wavering and his voice softens, becomes pleading. “Cal,please. I don’t want you to get hurt—or worse. This is your chance. Take it.”
“What if I change my mind halfway through?” I ask. “What if I want to leave before the time is up?”
He laughs. “You won’t want to.”
“But what if I do?”
King cuts in crisply. “That would be between you and your owner. The Obelisk can, of course, provide a mediator if necessary.”
Mediator. Right. Like my grandfather was a “legitimate businessman.”
But Jesse is right. I need the protection being offered here. The money. The safety. Yet I also need to show Daniel King that I’m not quite the fool he seems to think. “How is the money paid to me—and how much is your commission?”
“The Obelisk retains ten percent commission on the buyer’s final price, up front. The rest of the money will be kept in trust for you until the year is over, then paid into an account of your choosing. Any interest accrued will be remitted to you with it. Now, enough talking. It’s time for you to leave, Mr. Clemenza—or to sign here.” He taps the contract and pushes a pen over.
I pick up the pen slowly. “This can’t possibly be legally binding.”
“You’re a Clemenza. You of all people should understand how the terms of a contract like this might be enforced.”
I look up at him sharply. “I don’t want you to tell people my name. At the auction. I need to be completely anonymous. I don’t even want to show my face.”
“Seeing your face and knowing your name will raise the price. Who in this city would not enjoy a little private time with a desperate, virgin heir, fallen so far from grace?”
I put down the pen.
King gives an annoyed tut. “Fine. Anonymity. Now sign.”
I pick up the pen again and stare at the contract, wondering if I can really do this. Jesse rests a hand on my shoulder. I can’t tell if it’s meant to comfort or to keep me in my seat. His grip is tight enough to hurt. “It’s only a year,” he says. “That’s nothing. And think of the money…”
One year to come up with a plan, and at the end of it, I’ll have enough to disappear. Enough to start over. Enough to besafe.
I picture Louie’s sightless eyes once more.
It’s an out-of-body experience, watching the pen in my hand scratch my name across the line.
Daniel King smiles at last, revealing perfect white veneers. “Welcome to the Obelisk.”
CHAPTER 6
CALIGULA
Jesse leadsme through back hallways again, this time to a white room so bright it burns my eyes. The prep room, as he calls it, is a horror movie set dressed as a spa: white walls, chrome surfaces, lights bright enough to perform surgery.
Jesse installs himself in a nearby chair, accepts champagne, and tells the team of handlers—two women, three men, all white-clad and Russian-accented—“This one’s special. Grisha has dibs.”
That must be his owner’s friend. “Tell me about this Grisha?” I ask.
“You’ll like him,” Jesse says breezily, sipping his champagne. “He’s sweet. Well, usually. And just between you and me, honey, Grisha loves towatch. So you’ll have lots of fun with him.”
I knew this place was run by the Russian mob.It just never quite clicked that I might beboughtby one of them. I’d prepared my psyche for billionaires, not Bratva. “He might not win the auction.”
Jesse smiles. “Oh, he’ll win.”
I see then what I should have seen before: this “auction” is fixed. The winner is predetermined, and no doubt the price has been agreed upon also. I try to conjure up an image of this Grisha, but instead I find myself thinking about the dark-eyed Giuliano again, his hands on my arms.
I shiver and smother the memory. The only thing I should feel when I think about that man is a healthy sense of self-preservation.
“Take off your clothes,” a handler says, clipboard in hand.