Ghost (Boston Underworld #3) - A. Zavarelli Page 0,19

face, and his eyes move to the ceiling. Though I cannot hear it myself, I know exactly what it is. The girl. She is having another episode. Which I’ve watched from the monitor on my wall for far too long today.

The tension in my body is at the point of exploding if I don’t release it soon.

“What is that?” Nikolai asks.

“That is none of your concern.”

He frowns, but does not argue when I gesture to the door. He pauses one more time to listen to the sound above and then leaves as I requested.

By the time Franco returns with my captive, I am even more on edge and entirely too drunk. But his repentance cannot wait. Because at this moment, it is exactly the thing I need.

I nod at the gagged man tossed over Franco’s bulky frame in approval.

“Take him to the basement.” I grab the bottle of cognac from the bar. “I’ll be down in just a moment.”

8

Talia

The days blend together in a repetitive pattern of pain and sleep. Magda feeds me broth and the prescribed medication every morning. Everything is too vivid and sharp to my fragile eyes, and I beg her to shroud the room in darkness.

She agrees to my request and allows me to sleep. There is no other choice. I cannot move from the bed. Or at least I believe. Until one night, I find myself on the floor, curled up the way I used to at Arman’s when he took my mattress away. It’s hard and uncomfortable, but familiar. I want to stay there.

When Alexei picks me up and returns me to the bed, my murmured protests are met with his harsh words.

“You sleep on the bed in my home,” he tells me. “Always.”

And then he leaves me to my own special form of hell.

Three weeks pass before the symptoms dissolve and my mind is clear. The first time I sit upright in bed and glance around the room, I have to remind myself where I am. With sober eyes, everything looks different. More expensive.

The walls are made of stone. And the colors around the room are rich and dark. Golds and burgundies throughout the drapes and area rugs to match the mahogany furniture.

It is large. Too large for me. And the curtains are drawn back again, allowing natural light to invade the space. It still feels too bright. When I swing my legs over the side of the bed and put weight on them, they are stiff and I have to hold onto the mattress for the first few steps.

Soft material brushes against my skin, and I glance down. I am wearing pajamas, I realize. Soft pink cotton. It is a strange sensation against skin that has been naked for so long.

I move around the room, touching everything that is foreign to me. Things I have not seen or felt for longer than I can remember. Books, canvases, paintbrushes. The textures feel bizarre against the pads of my fingers. On the back of the canvas, I find a staple which I pry off with my fingers.

Instinctively I press it into the flesh of my palm, easing the tension in my chest with the familiar comfort of pain. Then the door opens and I toss it to the floor.

Magda meets my gaze, her eyes following the movement, and she frowns. There is a tray of food in her hands. Real food.

“You should be in bed.” She gives me a sad smile as she places the food on the nightstand. I observe the brightly colored fruit on the tray and my mouth waters at the sight of it. There is also soup and some crackers.

Magda gestures for me to come back to the bed, and I do.

“Eat slowly,” she instructs me, “and stop when you are full. You don’t need to worry about food here, Miss Talia. Any time you are hungry, you can eat.”

I nod, unable to focus on her.

As soon as she leaves the room, I disobey by gorging myself. It isn’t long before I’m in the bathroom purging it all back up. It’s only after the fact that Magda’s instructions begin to make sense. I brush my teeth and make it as far as the soft rug in the bathroom before I lay down to rest. I fall into a deep sleep, only waking when Alexei retrieves me once more.

I can tell by the oak and cloves in his scent that’s it’s him. He picks me up and carries me back to