Unexpectedly, Martina delivers me food again the following morning. She slips me the tray, and I manage to utter a thank you before she ducks out of the room.
The next day, she isn’t in such a rush to leave. When I invite her in, she gives me a shy smile and steps through the door.
“I tried something new today,” she tells me.
I take the tray from her hands. It’s another pastry, square and flaky, with raspberries piled into the middle, and covered with a layer of powdered sugar.
My mouth waters. “Your future husband, whoever that is, will be a very lucky man.”
Leaving a crack in the doorway, she perches on the edge of the bed. “I think I might be asexual.”
I nearly choke on my first bite. Does her brother know this?
When she sees my expression, she laughs. “I mean, I’m not sure. I’ve just never met a guy I was attracted to.”
“What about girls?” I ask with my mouth still half full.
She wrinkles her nose. “Nah.”
“My youngest sister wasn’t attracted to anyone for a long time,” I offer. “She’s your age, but she only had her first crush when she turned seventeen.”
“Who was it?”
“Some new boy at her school who organized Free Britney marches in downtown New York.” I can see my statement confuses her. “My sister is a bit obsessed with Britney Spears,” I explain. “She was very active in the Free Britney movement.”
“I’m glad Britney got out,” Martina says. “What her father did to her was horrible. What happened with the boy?”
“Turns out he already had a boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Martina shrugs. “The dating scene can be tough, I guess.”
“Especially for women like us.”
I don’t need to explain what I mean. For all of his faults, Damiano seems to love Martina. Based on what I’ve seen so far, he seems to be more like her father than a sibling. Will he barter her away for power? Give her away as a reward?
She adjusts herself to sit cross-legged. “Your husband… You didn’t choose him?”
The thought is so ludicrous, I can’t help but laugh. “I didn’t have a choice. My father handled the matchmaking, and I didn’t even think to question his judgement. I thought he’d make sure to find me a good fit.”
“He didn’t though.”
“No, he didn’t.”
Martina grows quiet, and I finish the rest of my pastry in silence.
“Was it good?” she asks.
“Delicious.”
She smiles. “I’ll make you another tomorrow.”
Why is she being so kind to me? I meet her gaze. It radiates melancholy. If she opens up to me, maybe I can help her.
“Last time, you said you convinced your friend to come to New York,” I say gently.
Her smile falls immediately. “Yeah. She wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t insisted on it.”
I wait for her to continue, sensing that she needs to talk about this with someone.
She rubs her biceps with her palms and looks over her shoulder toward where the guard stands just beyond the crack in the door. When she speaks next, it’s a whisper. “I wanted to go to Eleven Madison Park. It’s a restaurant.”
“Yeah, it’s incredible. I’ve been there before.” Papà took the entire family one year for Mamma’s birthday.
“I dreamt about it ever since I got interested in cooking. Imogen was nervous, her parents didn’t want her to go, but she managed to convince them after I kept pressuring her. Dem booked us a special private lunch with the chef. We were leaving the hotel on our way there when it happened.” Her voice quivers like a plucked string. “She died because of a meal.”
I’m about to tell her it’s not her fault, that many people travel to New York on their own and return home completely unharmed, but it’s as if a jar full of words has been knocked over inside of her, and now all of them are spilling out.
“It was raining awfully that day,” she says hoarsely. “When the three men first ambushed us, I was struggling with my umbrella, and I was so disoriented, I told them our names the moment they asked. It didn’t even occur to me to question why someone was asking for our names just outside our hotel. That’s all the confirmation they needed before they stuffed us into their van. They shot Imogen while she was sitting beside me. Right in the center of her forehead. It didn’t bleed at first, I thought it was a joke, a bad prank someone was playing on us. I shook her. I shouted, Imogen, stop it! It’s not funny. Then the blood started to drip, and she became so still. It wasn’t a prank. It was real.”
I clamp my hand over my mouth. This is so, so horrible.
Martina rakes her nails down her cheeks. “It was hideously selfish for me to force her to go. There’s no one to blame for her death but me. When Dem and I went to her funeral, her parents wouldn’t even look at me, Valentina. They hate me now. And why shouldn’t they? Being my friend was the worst thing that ever happened to their daughter. It’s the worst thing that can happen to anyone who’s not a part of our world. The friends I had before New York? We don’t talk anymore. I deleted their phone numbers, shut down my social media. No one will ever be safe around me, so what’s the point of getting close to anyone? I’d rather be alone than love people and watch them die.”
Silent tears drip from her eyes, and my own throat twists until it’s too tight for me to choke out any words. I want to give her a hug, this poor girl who’s carrying far too heavy a burden on her shoulders, but I can’t. If the security guard sees me touching her, he’ll take her away. I reach for her hand and grasp it in mine, hoping the angle of our bodies won’t allow him to see.
“Martina.”
She’s staring down at her lap, and her tears falling on her gray leggings, leaving dark round spots.
“Martina, look at me.” I squeeze her hand.
Her glistening eyes flicker up.
“I understand what you’re feeling.” I really do. I force myself to breathe through the tightness in my throat. “The rage and the guilt and the utter disbelief that your life could take such a horrifying turn. I’ve felt those things too after…I witnessed what my husband did to people.” I can’t tell her the full truth. If she knew what I’ve done to people, she wouldn’t be here talking to me.
“But you were brave,” she whispers. “You helped me. I didn’t help my friend.”
“You couldn’t. And yes, I did help you, but there were others before, and I didn’t help them.” I murdered them because my husband told me to. “I was a coward up until the moment I met you.”
“Do you regret not helping them?”
“Every day.”
“How do you live with it? Some days I wake up and think there’s no point in getting out of bed. There’s no point in anything.”
I glance at the floor. “I used to have those thoughts too. It will take time, but eventually, they’ll disappear.”
Letting go of her hand, I scoop my knees to my chest. “I knew my husband and his men well, Martina. They’re professional killers. It didn’t matter what you did once they had you. There was nothing you could have done for your friend.”
She wraps her arms around her midsection. “I’m scared it will happen again. Something bad.”
“I get that. I’m not going to pretend any relationships are easy in this world. Most of my friends were related to me or they were sons and daughters of men who worked for my father. It made them more compatible for friendships.”
“Here, we’re on our own. It’s Dem and Ras and all of his hired guards. There aren’t any other big families on the island.” She sniffs. “It’s on purpose, so that—” Her mouth slams shut, and she shoots me a cautious look. She was about to say something she shouldn’t.
She’s vulnerable enough to probably tell me more if I press her, but my conscience holds me back. Instead, I give her a smile. “I can be your friend. Trust me, our friendship can hardly put me in a situation worse than the one I’m already in.”
She lets out a watery laugh. “I suppose that’s true.” Sighing, she looks out toward the water. “I should go back to my room. Dem told me I can’t spend more than thirty minutes here with you.”
I roll my eyes. “He wants me to die of boredom.”
“I won’t let that happen,” she says as she climbs off the bed. “In fact, I have an idea.”
“Hmm?”
She wraps her hand around the door handle and looks back at me. “I don’t want to get your hopes up. Let me talk to him first. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
