let her see you squirm, Levi had said.
Never show them your fear, Lourdes had warned.
But the loudest word, the only word, was Vianca’s.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Enne stared at Vianca in horror. The woman had strangled her without touching her. Though Enne’s lungs had returned to normal, a phantom soreness lingered, and panic still clawed up her throat. For several moments, she’d thought she would really die, that Vianca would kill her in this dreadful office, while her secretary and Levi waited outside. She could’ve died. And no one had heard a thing.
Enne felt small. She felt ill. What had Vianca done?
“You may sit now,” Vianca told her, a smile playing on her lips.
Enne sat down slowly, carefully, and she watched the old woman with growing alarm. She needed to run. To be alone. To bathe. She needed comfort, and there was none to be found in Vianca’s domineering expression, in the stiffness of the desk chair or the uncomfortable heat of the office.
Vianca called it an omerta, but Enne had never heard of such a thing. What had she done to her? And Levi...had he known she could do this? Why hadn’t he warned her?
“Sedric Torren will be paying St. Morse a visit tonight,” Vianca said, already returning to business. “Your first assignment will be to bring a message to him in the Tropps Room at ten o’clock.”
The name sounded familiar for some reason, but Enne was too traumatized to place it, picking at a scab along her thumb to focus on anything other than the woman before her. By the way Vianca spoke the name, it sounded as if everyone should know him.
Her scab popped off, and blood trickled down her palm.
“Look at me while I’m talking to you,” Vianca snapped, and Enne’s head jolted toward Vianca of its own accord. Enne’s heart thundered. This woman could control her like a puppet, force her own body to betray her. She was trapped within her own skin.
“What is the message, Madame?” She wasn’t sure if she had spoken those words on her own, or if Vianca had made her.
Vianca pulled a vial of clear liquid out of her drawer and handed it to her. “This is your message. See that he receives it. I’m tired of young Mr. Torren playing with my things.” Once again, Vianca leaned closer, and this time, Enne winced and put as much distance between the two of them as possible. She knew her terror must have been plain on her face. “This won’t kill him, but it will incapacitate him for several days. That should send him a message, don’t you agree?”
“Y-yes, Madame.”
Enne’s conscience twisted when she realized what she’d agreed to do, even if Sedric Torren was a stranger. Surely, he didn’t deserve to be poisoned, and she couldn’t possibly be the one to do it. She was a schoolgirl, for goodness’ sake, not some kind of assassin.
But Vianca’s menacing glare rooted Enne to her seat.
This was her chance to refuse. To run. But the more she considered it, the more air was sucked out of her. Her breath thinned until she was gasping again. Each inhale was weaker than the next. While Vianca thoughfully twisted an emerald ring around her finger, Enne gripped the edges of her seat, her lungs aching as they demanded oxygen.
Then Vianca’s lips coiled into a smile, and Enne’s chest expanded in relief. She took large, gulping breaths and blinked the tears away from her eyes.
Somehow, the omerta knew what Enne was thinking. It knew Enne didn’t want to do this. And it was playing with her, punishing her.
This woman could murder her at any moment she wished.
Enne bit her lip to hold back the helplessness squirming in her throat. Breathe. Sedric was a stranger. Someone who meant nothing to her. Breathe. This wasn’t permanent. She was leaving this monstrous city the moment she found Lourdes.
“We’ve come to an agreement, then,” Vianca said. Clearly, Enne’s silence was what she’d wanted to hear. “The acrobats are in the middle of a show. Tonight is their last performance, so you can begin rehearsing a new act with them tomorrow. I’ll be sure to send you something special to wear tonight for your date with Mr. Torren. Time to abandon your Bellamy values.”
Enne didn’t need to worry about the city corrupting her. Vianca Augustine seemed confident in achieving that all on her own.
Vianca retrieved a bronze key out from a filing cabinet. “As part of your newfound employment, you will live here in St. Morse. Your apartment, room 1812.” She handed the key to her, and Enne mumbled a thank you, sliding it into her pocket beside the vial and her token. “Welcome to the greatest casino in New Reynes, Miss Salta.”
Enne stood so fast her knees cracked. She needed to get out of here. Away from her. She needed to get out of this city.
This had all been a terrible mistake.
“I’ll contact you again when I have a new task for you,” Vianca promised, her eyes flinty. “Or if you disappoint.” The threat in her words was clear.
As Enne stumbled on her near-run to the door, Vianca didn’t even look at her. She returned to her papers. No smile. No nod. Not even enough acknowledgment to call it indifference. And that was what terrified Enne most of all.
Levi stood in the waiting room, repeatedly checking his watch. He looked up as Enne closed the door. “Well?” he asked impatiently.
Enne hesitated a few moments, waiting for Levi to add something else. Anything else. Had he known this would happen? Surely he wouldn’t have brought her here if he knew about the omerta. He would’ve warned her. He wouldn’t have let her anywhere near St. Morse Casino. She’d only just met Levi, but criminal or not, she had heard true sincerity in his voice when he promised to help her. Unless everything in this city was a lie.
She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but her chest constricted. It was a simple word, omerta, but when she tried to form it, no sound would come out. Enne realized that, whatever Vianca had done to her, Enne couldn’t talk about it. So she smiled to hide her panic, as she had always been taught to do.
Wasn’t that one of Lourdes’s sayings about being a lady? Smile widest when you are about to cry. Enne had already broken rule after rule, and she needed this one. She needed to do something right. She needed to feel in control.
More than anything, she needed to be alone.
“I got the job,” Enne managed, though she didn’t sound excited. Everything felt numb. Tonight she was going to...going to...
“You got the job?” Levi echoed, and Enne hated that he looked impressed. Hated that she’d wanted that minutes ago, when now she felt so shaken.
“I’ll walk you to your new room, then.” He opened the door to the hallway, and Enne avoided staring at the Mizer portraits, suddenly all too aware that these faces belonged to the dead. When she stared into their purple eyes, she felt Vianca’s green ones gazing back.
“How kind of you,” she muttered, wishing he would instead leave her to herself. As intent as she was on finding her mother, she didn’t know if she could do anything else today, with all the questions and stress of this morning and tonight’s assignment weighing on her shoulders.
“Ever the gentleman,” he said cheerily as they stepped inside the elevator.
The pulleys above them spun, and the platform jerked as they ascended. Enne held the railing in a steel grip.
“What did you say that impressed Vianca so much?” Levi asked. Everything about his tone was pleasant and friendly. It made her want to scream.
“She appreciated my etiquette skills,” Enne snapped. That was another broken rule—she couldn’t