Novak seated himself in front of the computer, grinning. He had licked his purplish lips until they gleamed.
“Well done, Vajda,” he said. “Forgive me for making you wait, but I was riveted to the screen. Your performance with La Steele was magnificent. I have not been so stirred in years. I shall set up video screens in the room where I conduct her punishment and loop the footage the entire time. Those will be the last images she ever sees, before I gouge out her eyes. Perfect, eh?”
Val instantly manufactured white noise in his brain to block out the image. It did not work. “I want to speak to Imre,” he repeated dully.
“Of course, of course. I had him brought down the minute your video appeared in my inbox. He was privileged to watch it with us. Let me give the chair to him. I wish to go back and watch it again.”
Novak dissolved into a swirl of pixels. Another blurred, moving image as Imre was muscled onto the seat that Novak had just left.
The murky blur resolved into Imre’s face.
Val stared, his jaw aching. Imre looked shrunken and grayish and small. His eyes were sunk deep into their cavernous sockets. His cheeks looked caved in. He had aged fifteen years in four days.
Val’s hands clenched into fists. “Are they treating you well?” He hated himself for saying it. How stupid, how incredibly fucking inane the question was under the circumstances.
Imre’s eyebrow gave its habitual ironic upward quirk. “They have not beaten or cut me, if that is what you mean.”
“Are you eating?” Val persisted. “You have to eat.”
An irritated frown flashed over Imre’s face. “Don’t be a fool, boy.”
An agonizing, helpless silence followed. Val finally broke it, in desperation. “I will get you out of there,” he said.
“By betraying that poor woman? Delivering her up to torture and murder? Do not make me party to this, Vajda.”
Impotent rage swelled up in Val’s throat. “Do…not…judge…me,” he ground out.
Imre glanced over to his left. Loud, raucous bursts of laughter and lewd comments were audible. “This man is a demon,” he said quietly. “He will drag as many people to hell with him as he possibly can, and he wants you in particular to keep him company. Take care you don’t go with him.”
“I am doing the best I can!” The words exploded out of him.
“Indeed.” Finally, it was the dry, ironic tone that Val knew so well. “Was that your best? May God have mercy on us all. That performance was a bit much for an aged widower, boy.”
Val’s jaw tightened at the disapproval in Imre’s tone. “I cannot believe it,” he said. “Here I am, scrambling like a fucking monkey to keep you from dismemberment and death, and you are lecturing me?”
Imre’s lips twitched mirthlessly. “Fucking monkey is exactly the term for what I just saw, boy. And yes, I am lecturing you. Old habits die hard. I think you will have to do somewhat better than your best to get out of this predicament. Go with God, Vajda.”
The screen flickered, and the picture was lost. Val leaned over and knocked his pulsing forehead against the steering wheel.
Stuck-up, old bastard. Better than his best, his ass. What else could he do? Val was tying his balls in a knot as it was. Fuck Novak, fuck Imre, fuck them all. He wished he could find the nearest cliff to drive off. Let them sort it out however the fuck they wanted.
But he could not. Not an option. Not for him.
One more detail. It had been a wild gamble, assuming that Stengl was located near his daughter, assuming that Donatella could contrive an introduction. Assuming that the vain, capricious Donatella would even speak to him after years of neglecting the connection. She had wearied him to death, but now that he needed her, he regretted having been so lazy. He glanced at his watch. Six AM, an indecent hour to call her, in Italy, but he could not bear to wait.
He would explode.
He fished his cell phone out of his pocket, and closed his eyes to pluck Donatella’s number out of his long-term memory. It had been five years since the time he’d spent in San Vito, infiltrating that ring of smugglers, and the woman had a complicated, secret, personal life, aside from the rigors of being a Camorra mafia don’s wife. She might well have changed her cell number. She would scratch his eyes out for waking her. But he had never had any difficulty sweetening her.
His jaw clenched at the thought of having to fuck Donatella again. She was a beautiful woman, but she was selfish and spoiled and loud, and she had a streak of random cruelty that chilled him.
Imre. He forced out a harsh breath and dialed.
The phone rang three times. She picked up. “Chi cazzo sei?” she snarled. Who the fuck is this?
“Donatella. It’s me, Valery.” He caressed her with his voice.
“Valerio! Amore. I thought you had forgotten me.”
“As if I could, bellissima,” he said. “Forgive me for neglecting you. My life has been complicated lately.”
“Hmmph,” she grunted. “I can well imagine. What are you thinking, calling at this hour? Imagine if I had been in bed with Et-tore. How would I explain myself?”
“You would never take a phone with this SIM card into bed with your husband,” he said. “I take it you are in bed with someone else?”
“Do you care, Valerio?” Her voice was falsely sweet.
“Not as long as you love me best,” he murmured tenderly.
“How sweet. Always, carissimo. Although it would not do to neglect my succulent young Giuseppe, here.” She giggled, murmured something inaudible. “Perhaps you can join us some evening. The bed is wide enough for three. And Guiseppe looks…mmm, oh, sì…most enthusiastic at the idea.”
“Anything to please you,” he murmured promptly. “But first, I have something to ask you. Do you remember the earrings I gave to you, the ones with the poison beads?”
“Of course, amore. I treasure them. A fearless gift for a man like you to give to his lover. Did it never occur to you that I might kill you with them in a jealous rage?”
“It occurred to me, yes, but I do not fear death,” he said. “The designer of those earrings will be in Italy day after tomorrow, and she has an entire line of beautiful pieces containing all manner of concealed weaponry, poisons, drugs, explosives. Of course, I thought of you. Appropriate adornments for a dangerous beauty like yourself.”
“Ah, Valerio. Tesoro,” she cooed. “Am I so dangerous? Is that why you stayed away for so long?”
“Only for my peace of mind,” he assured her, his voice smooth. “But to give you a treat like this, I will risk coming out of hiding. Would you like to meet this woman, and see her wares?”
“Of course. I wish to see them all.”
“I thought so,” he said silkily. “I have a favor to ask in return.”
“You know that I can deny you nothing, tesoro. Ask.”
“Do you know a woman named Ana Santarini?”
“Ignazio Santarini’s boring wife? What on earth do you want with that stupid cow? You cannot possibly intend to fuck her!”
“No, not at all,” he assured her. “But I need an introduction to her for this jewelry designer. Could you arrange it for me? Preferably at her own residence.”
He heard the machinery grinding in Donatella’s mind. “I might be persuaded…if I could have the pleasure of your company once again.”
He