“No. You wouldn’t. And you’d be a fool to try and leave after everything I told you last night.” He steps more into the room. “I’m having a party tonight.”
I look Valerian up and down. That’s not very like him. He doesn't seem like the type to let loose.Ever.
I frown. “A party? Really?”
“That’s right. My Bratva and I like to get together. Have some drinks. I shouldn't have to explain what apartyis to you, right, Joy?”
“Right.”
The last party I went to was years back. It was during junior year. I was seventeen. I did one shot of vodka and almost collapsed.
I never really built up my tolerance.
I narrow my eyes at Valerian. “I thought you were in the middle of a crisis.”
“I have inconveniences. Not crises.” Valerian comes closer to me. “Igor and his friends seem to have forgotten how much power I hold.”
I’m not so sure about that. Valerian loves to let everyone know via punishment. And murder.
He continues. “There will be some press there to photograph the event. I’ll make sure we’re on the front cover of a few magazines tomorrow.”
“We?”
“Well, not you, sweetheart.” Valerian tips his head at me. “I’m talking about my Bratva.” He brushes my chin. “You’re my precious little secret.”
Cameras?Being on the front cover of the tabloids?
Sounds like the photographers could be my ticket out of this place.
“Blue?” I take the dress of the rail.
“Yes, Miss Joy. Like your eyes,” says Galina.
“I told Valerian I’d feel more comfortable wearing black.”
“Mr. Valerian make all decisions in his home, Miss Joy.”
“Yes,” I say, staring at my reflection in the mirror. “You can say that again.”
“We’ll do makeup first.” Galina claps with excitement. She’s smiling. This is the first time I’ve seen her do that. “Oh, Miss Joy! You are going to look fabulous.”
I swizzle around in the vanity mirror, facing her. “Do you do this a lot?”
“Oh,” says Galina, rifling through drawers, all giddy. “Never. Miss Joy.”
“But what about Igor’s mother? Didn’t she used to live here?”
Galina looks up. All of the excitement drains from her face. She falls into a trance. It’s like she’s looking through me.
My spine tingles. I feel like there’s somebody behind me, the way she’s looking at me.
There is, technically—my reflection.
“Galina?”
The maid shakes out of her trance. She finishes up in the drawers, makeup in hand, and approaches me.
“Did you ever meet Igor’s mother?” I continue. She knows the answers to my questions. I know she does. “Was Valerian married to her?”