Drawers were opening and closing in the kitchen, and when all went silent, Collette stepped into the hall, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth and a gun in her hand, tipped with a long black cylinder—a silencer. The doorman opened his mouth, but before he could utter a word, she pulled the trigger. I flinched, even though there was no blast. His body hitting the wall made more of a sound, before he slid, his mouth hanging open.
“Shit!” I said, jumping to my feet. “Why’d you kill him?”
Nofri, the guy who had escorted Collette to the airport, and then the both of us to her apartment, came out of her room. He had been waiting in her closet. Rocco didn’t trust Collette enough to send me in alone. Once I was out the door, I’d be on my own, but not a second before. Then Nofri would keep an eye on Collette to make sure she didn’t try to double cross us while we were trying to rescue Brando.
Nofri looked between us, his eyes narrowing.
“Don’t look at me!” I hissed-whispered.
Collette shrugged. “He would have called Nemours. I will risk no one for mymère. If he dies, it is worth it to keep her safe.”
I wondered if this was her first time killing anyone. She didn’t seem upset or panicked. Then I wondered whyIwasn’t upset or panicked.
Brando.
I stuck my chin up. “Nofri,” I said. “Hide him the closet before the blood saturates the carpet.”
A knock came at the door, and as Collette went to get it again, she told Nofri not to bother. Her “man” would clean it up. And she said that if he, Nofri, would rather stay alive, he should get in the closet and stay there until I left. He did as she said, and when she opened the door this time, my breath caught.
The man she referred to as Aramis Fabre stood on the other side, grinning at her.
You will know him as soon as you see him,she had told me. Six foot four, scalp showing just the barest hints of black hair, a knife scar that runs from his left temple to the tip of his mouth. Ice blue eyes that do not miss a shadow. He is Olivier’s right-hand man, but rarely will you see him. He does well in the darkness. He sees me to all of my performances.
He kissed Collette’s cheek, lingering, before he came in, stopping when his shoe hit the dead doorman. “What happened here?” He spoke English, his voice deep and sharp, but it was broken.
Collette closed the door behind him. “He was snooping for Nemours. I do not need the trouble right now.”
The tone of her voice shocked me. I had never heard so much…vulnerability in it. To a normal person, it was hardly anything, but to someone that knew her, it seemed like a call for help. No wonder Fabre believed her when she said her mother was in trouble. She wasn’t holding back on the emotional war she was going through.
He nodded. “Do not worry. I will take care of him.” Then his chilling blue eyes assessed me. “This is her?” He chucked his chin toward me.
“Good enough?”
He looked me over again. “She will do.” He rubbed his chin. “She looks familiar.”
The entire time, they spoke only English. Collette had told him that I only spoke French.
Collette made a dismissive noise. “Nemours has a type. It is this one.”
After a minute or two, Fabre seemed to accept this. “I will take care of your payment once you dance,” he spoke to me in French.
I nodded once, not ready to open my mouth.
Collette left us alone, going back into the kitchen to grab another cigarette. She handed it to Fabre. He had a star tattooed on his left hand, on the skin between pointer finger and thumb. Not a man you’d want to meet in a dark alley.
Not a man you’d want to meet in the light of day either.
A certain aura hovered around him, the kind that made men and women move out of his way. A deeper sense of self instinctually knew that if his gravity pulled you too close, you’d get sucked in by the cyclone that was his destructive nature.
He took a drag of his cigarette, blowing it toward me. “Are you ready for this, girl?”
I secured the robe tighter around myself as I met Fabre and Collette by the door. I looped my arm with Fabre’s, something Colette claimed she did. “Afficher l'heure,” I said to him, my voice firm.
Show time.
* * *
A small boat of unknown make and model took us further out to sea. It had a small cabin for me to sit in so that strong gusts would not blow my wig away or do wicked things to my makeup.
