They torture. Rape. They kill.
Her face goes hotter, and fear rises in her chest and sinks a hatchet into her heart.
“Who!” he barks. She jumps.
“A Moldovan gang. Loan sharks.”
She blinks at him. She thought Avi would erupt in anger, but he doesn’t react at all. Not a flinch, or flicker—no glimmer of any emotion at all. As though he’s trained his whole life for this sort of thing.
... hired-killer-type shit. He carries a garrote in his pocket. And some kind of injection pens. God knows what’s in them.
“How long have these devices been surveilling the rooms?”
She clams up. Terrified. Thinking of Theo and his sister and mother having fingers lopped off. The Moldovans coming after her, and her own family.
He lurches to his feet. Before she can blink, his fingers clamp around her neck. She can’t breathe. Panic kicks. Her eyes water. He tightens his grip, his fingers digging into her flesh. Her vision narrows, blackens. Pinpricks of light dance around her vision.
He releases her just as abruptly.
She gasps, chokes, sucks air, coughs, gasps again. Tears stream down her face. Her nose runs. She’s shaking hard, and she’s wet her underwear.
He waits.
She glances hopelessly at the door.
Allah, please, please help me put this right ...
“How long?”
“Since—since we sailed from Piraeus.”
He nods slowly. “So everything from day one has been recorded—every little thing, every conversation that occurred in each one of these six rooms?”
She nods.
“And Theo will use some of this information in his show? As well as sell it?”
“I—I guess. I—I imagine so. For his second show of the trip. Tomorrow night. The Moonlight & Mentalism Soiree. It’s exclusive for the elite guests. He—he wants this show for the elites to be something spectacular. He’s counting on gratuities.”
“Double dipper.”
She says nothing.
“So how does it work—this mentalism soiree? In detail, please.”
She clears her throat, tries to speak clearly. “Early in the evening, after we cast off from Kusadasi, I go to each of my elite rooms with trays of silver, gold, and bronze masks. The masks depict personas inspired by Greek mythology. They’ve been crafted to look like actual beaten metal but are very light. Each guest who’ll be attending the show selects one mask from my trays. They must wear the mask at the show. Theo will then target certain guests, and verbally unmask them—stripping the personas they have chosen to wear in public, and he’ll disclose their dark secrets. He—he’s very good. He doesn’t even need to spy.” Tears begin to well again. “He can read body language. He can tell a lot just from which mask each guest selects, and then how they respond and interact with him during the show.” Roshaan swipes moisture from her face.
“What’s in it for you?”
“Nothing. I swear.”
“So why did you do this for him? Hide these bugs?”
A noise begins in her brain, buzzing, louder and louder as she’s forced to face it, to articulate it. Out loud.
“He ... gave me a ring.”
Avi’s gaze drops to her fake emerald. Shame swallows her completely.
