Miz Ghita enters the room; I had been watching the elevator rise to the top floor on my way back to the sofa. She looks at me coldly, says nothing, and heads straight for Francesca. She stops at the bottom of the dais steps, her decorated fingers interlocked down in front of her.
“The girls will be here soon,” Miz Ghita announces to Francesca. “I have to warn you, Daughter, the one from House Five, the one we believe will be the most suitable for Mr. Augustin, wasn’t very cooperative. She had three of her high-paying customers today that she was forced to cancel to come here.”
“Oh yes, House Five.” Francesca smiles thoughtfully. “She is a feisty one.” Her darkly-painted eyes fall on me. “But Mr. Augustin revels in that sort of thing, so the more she fights, the better.”
“Mother,” Emilio speaks up, walking past me, purposely invading my space, “why don’t you bring Ela up to join us; I think she’s waited in her room long enough; she’ll be punished here”—he glances back at me—“in front of our guests, just like her clumsy counterpart was.”
Miz Ghita looks at Francesca for her approval. Francesca nods.
“Very well,” Miz Ghita says, but nothing about her demeanor, all tensed up, suggests she agrees with the idea. Then without another word she makes her way back to the elevator.
“Let’s talk money, Niklas,” Francesca says. The girl doing her makeup adds a few finishing touches and then steps away from her to stand by the other girl who finished her hair seconds ago.
Francesca looks at my briefcase on the floor.
Izabel and Nora finally take their seats again; Izzy on the sofa; Nora at my feet, no longer naked.
Lifting the briefcase, I place it evenly on the top of my thighs. I move my thumb over the little gold mechanisms, up and down, to set the numbered code in place and then flip the locks open on each side. Emilio steps over and looms in front of me, looking down into the case at nearly one million dollars packed neatly inside.
“Go ahead,” I offer, waving my hand over the cash and raising the briefcase toward him, “check it out if you want; I assure you it’s real.”
I lean casually against the sofa, stretch my arms across the back. Emilio takes the briefcase, supporting it on the palm of one hand. “Could’ve fit a little more in here,” he says, his unimpressed gaze moving over the bills.
“Yeah, and it did,” I say. “That’s one million minus the twenty thousand I paid to meet with your mother, and the fifty thousand I paid to meet with your sister.” I smile at him and add smartly, “I bet you hate it that having your audience is free.”
“Niklas,” Francesca interrupts—she saw the same fed-up look of murder in her brother that I just saw and is trying to thwart a retaliation, “you do realize that my girls are not cheap, not even my cyprians. I hope you don’t think that because they are considered damaged goods, that you’re going to get off with some kind of”—she twirls her hand at the wrist—“discounted price. And since you made the mistake of letting me know how much you want a damaged girl, I get to charge you more for her than I might otherwise.”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” I tell her. “I wanted you to know exactly what I need, and that my preference is important to me so that I get what I want. Just like I told Miz Ghita at the restaurant: money is no issue.”
“Then perhaps we’ll charge you more than you have,” Emilio speaks up, setting the briefcase harshly back onto my legs.
I look only at Francesca.
“You could,” I tell her. “But then if you fuck me like that, I’ll most certainly be taking my money to that ‘incompetent woman who doesn’t know the first thing about this business’ the next time I’m looking to buy.”
Emilio sits on the sofa across from me, smirking, still hopeful that something he does or says will eventually mean more than shit to me. And then just when that thought crosses my mind, he manages to find something after all. He looks at Izabel with intent in his eyes—and he holds it, making sure that I make note of it. All right, Emilio, you have my attention now; be really fucking careful because if you touch her I’ll beat you to death.
Niklas
“I will give you a fair price,” Francesca assures me.
Moments later the elevator is climbing the metal again, almost soundlessly; the top comes into view and then the faces of Miz Ghita and the servant girl from earlier who Nora tripped. The glass doors slide open and Miz Ghita, holding onto the girl’s elbow, walks her forward and toward Emilio.
Emilio stands from the sofa, straightens his jacket, a devilish grin twists his mouth. He reaches for ‘Ela’, but his hand stops midair when he hears Francesca’s voice behind him.