Sleeping With Danger. Wendy Rosnau
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could you believe a stranger over Hector? Holic Reznik is—”
“A trustworthy associate of mine. I’ve known him for years. If he says you’ve been sneaking off to the village in an attempt to escape the island, then I believe him. By the way, I’ll be leaving in two days for a few weeks. While I’m away Holic will be in charge. Make trouble in any way and he has my permission to string Hector up on the firing range for target practice.”
Melita’s knees went weak. “You can’t leave Holic in charge! He wants—”
“He wants what?”
“He lied to you because I rejected him this morning when I was coming back from…picking flowers. He was in the garden and he attacked me. He shoved me against the wall and…touched me. He told me if I would spend time in his bed he would get me off the island. When I rejected his offer, he told me he was going to make trouble for me.”
“And where was Hector while this was happening?”
“He… He was close by.”
“Hector didn’t mention Holic had attacked you. The truth is Hector would have snapped Holic’s neck if that was true, and I would have rewarded him for it. Any man fool enough to touch you without my permission is a dead man.”
“Holic did touch me, and he made it clear he will do it again. You can’t leave him in charge while you’re gone.”
She waited for her father to digest every word, waited for him to rethink giving Holic the keys to everything at Minare, including the one to her bedroom.
“Holic is not an idiot. He knows what my plans are for you, and he also knows I would kill him if he laid a hand on you. I’ve done it before, remember?”
Yes, she remembered. She would live with her part in Nemo’s death forever. She motioned to the flowers. “This lavender is fresh this morning, and—” she raised her chin and pointed to the bruises on her neck “—so are these. Holic choked me when I tried to get away.”
He studied the marks on her throat, then pulled a silver case from his pocket and opened it. Taking one of his favorite cigars from it, he pinched it between his lips. Setting the case on the table next to his coffee cup, he lit the cigar with a lighter he took from his pocket. “As I said, you’re a cunning little fox. You probably put those bruises there to aid your story. It’s something I would do.” He grinned. “Like father, like daughter.”
Melita glanced at the lighter on the table. He’d had it a long time, and she’d watched him finger it and stroke it like it was something special. He did it many times a day. “What do the initials P.C. stand for?”
He slipped the lighter back into his pocket. “It’s the name of an old friend. Before he died, Paavo Creon gave it to me. He was generous, that way. He shared everything he owned with me before he died.”
“And how did he die?”
“Tragically.”
“Was he also in the business of torturing and killing?”
“Be careful, Melita.”
“I don’t believe he was a friend. The devil has no friends. All he has is enemies, and you must have more than your share. More enemies than rocks on this island. If your own children hate you, then—”
“Enough!”
It would never be enough. The vision of Nemo tied to a wooden stake on her father’s yacht flashed in Melita’s mind. She would have given her own life to save him, but nothing she had said had made any difference.
“Reminiscing, Melita? Are you seeing Nemo screaming for his life, or is it all the blood you can’t forget? You were the cause of that, just as you were the cause of Hector’s suffering this morning. We’ve had this conversation a dozen times. As I told you, your betrayal killed your lover, just like your foolish trip to the village this morning has scarred Hector for life.”
“Stop it.” Melita covered her ears.
Her father stood quickly and jerked her hands away from her ears. “It’s time to grow up and embrace the life I’m prepared to offer you, Melita. Agree to surrender to me and we’ll begin again.”
What he offered she wanted no part of. To live a life controlled by him would be worse than death. The only thing she wanted was to forget she was Cyrus Krizova’s daughter.
“Punishing Hector today served a dual purpose. It was a warning to my men that I don’t tolerate failure, and it was also a reminder to you that your selfish actions hurt other people. We both know how much you hate being the catalyst to a disaster. Next time you slip out of your bedroom before dawn think about Hector dangling from a rope in Holic’s iron sights.”
“I’ll never surrender.”
“I can wait you out, Melita. Your life here does not alter mine. Surrendering to me might seem like a prison cell itself, but it can also be the key that unlocks the door. Your brother learned that. As imperfect and weak as Simon was, eventually he learned that fighting me hurt him more than accepting his birthright.”
“Simon’s sick. He can’t fight back or choose for himself.”
“You’re not listening. I choose for all my children.”
“Then choose for me to go back to Mykonos. I’ll live there quietly with Simon and take care of him. You can forget us and we’ll forget you.”
“That’s not an option.”
“Why? I loved living at Lesvago. I wouldn’t leave. I wouldn’t ever leave. And Simon needs—”
“Peace and quiet.”
“What does that mean? Has he contracted another blood infection?”
“No, that’s not what ails him these days, but it’s nothing for you to concern yourself with. Enough about Simon. I’ve decided that starting tomorrow you will spend every afternoon with Barinski in the lab. His lack of organization is affecting his productivity. You like to organize things.” He touched the flowers on the table. “While I’m gone you can keep his records orderly.”
“Take me along with you. I miss Callia and Erik.”
“No. That would be rewarding you for going to the village against my orders.” He bent and sniffed the lavender in the vase. “Remember you have the power to keep Hector and the villagers healthy. You don’t need another death on your conscience to send you off the balcony, or slitting your wrists again.” He angled his head and blew smoke into the air, then he sent his eyes slowly over her from head to toe. “There’s something else. I’ve ignored this ridiculous costume far too long. You will start wearing the clothes in your closet, and shoes on your feet.”
Melita raised her chin. “If you want me to dress like your daughter, I will…for your promise to stop killing the goats.”
He sighed heavily. “So we’re back to that, are we? The goats on this island are raised for food, Melita.”
She turned and gazed out over the balcony, the wind lifting the hem of her peasant-style red cotton skirt. The air was fresh and balmy, and she could smell the wildflowers that grew randomly along the rocky path. The goat herd was there munching on the foliage in the sunlight.
She turned and faced her father. “Make this place a refuge for the goats. You could demand it. Do it father, and I will…consider surrendering my life and my soul to you.”
“And what would the villagers eat for meat?”
“The villagers are fishermen. They can eat fish.”
“Despotiko, a refuge for those shaggy beasts?” He laughed. “It’s unfortunate that your pets are weekly turned into steak, but that is the life of a goat. Perhaps it would be wise to refrain from naming them.”
“My loyalty in exchange for