Hearing footsteps in the outer office, I rise from behind my desk and stick my head out the door. “Mr. Dmitriyev?”
A man with icy blue eyes studies me with an intensity that sends a shiver racing down my spine. “Yes, I’m Victor Dmitriyev.” He holds out a hand. “And you’re Ms. Bianchi?
I force a friendly smile and step forward. “Sofia Bianchi. Please, call me Sofia.” I give him a firm shake. “I’m one of the counselors here at Lincoln High School. I’m delighted you were able to squeeze in a tour before heading home tomorrow.”
His gaze leisurely travels around the office, which is empty since everyone already left for the day. “Thank you for sticking around to meet with me. We’ve been house hunting for most of the day, so this was the only time that worked.”
His voice has a slight accent that I can’t place. It might be Slavic.
“It’s no problem at all. Choosing a school district is an important decision. I hope I’ll be able to answer any questions you might have.” I fight the urge to fidget as he continues to stare at me. Something about him makes me feel uncomfortable.
“I have no doubt that I will come away completely satisfied at the end of our meeting, Ms. Bianchi.” His thin lips curve into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It reminds me of Roman and my father’s men, which is really odd.
I shake off my paranoia, chalking it up to being out of whack after getting kicked to the curb by Roman. “I thought you mentioned that your wife and son would also be accompanying us for the tour. Are we waiting for them to join us?”
“Yes, well, that was the original plan. But we were all up early this morning. My wife and son are tired after looking at houses all day. They decided to stay back at the hotel. I know what qualities my son is looking for in a school, so that won’t be a problem.”
I nod since his excuse for their absence is plausible. “All right then, I suppose we should get started.”
Since it’s just the two of us, I hope this can be wrapped up in about thirty minutes. Drew’s invitation sits in the back of my mind. The more I think about it, the more I want to stop by O’Toole’s for a drink. We had such a great time at dinner, and I want to see if it’s possible to recapture that feeling.
“Excellent,” Mr. Dmitriyev says, gesturing for me to lead the way with an extended arm.
We start out on the main level, where the media center, main office, cafeteria, music and art hallway, computer lab, and student lounge are located. I have keys for all the rooms, so we pop in and look around at each one. Along the way, we run into the principal. Like me, Mr. Atherby is working late. The two men shake hands after my introductions. Mr. Atherby makes small talk for a few minutes and excuses himself.
I’ve given more than a dozen tours of the school during my two years here, so I have my spiel down pat. As we walk through the halls, peeking inside classrooms, I explain which AP classes are offered and where our district and high school rank in the state. I mention the athletic teams and clubs that round out our academic experience.
I show Mr. Dmitriyev the gym and pool, pointing out the athletic fields. The weird vibe I felt earlier still vibrates beneath the surface, but I push it aside to deliver all the pertinent information he and his family will need to make a well-informed decision.
“Does the school offer any auto mechanic classes?” he asks.
“As a matter of fact, we do. All of the technology labs are on the lower level. Would you like to check them out?”
“Yes, I’d like that. Alex is very interested in working with his hands.” He offers me another cool smile that makes him look like a shark. “Just like his old man.”
I shiver and try to brush off my discomfort while plastering on a courteous smile. “Of course. Follow me.”
We head to the closest stairwell that leads to the basement. Without any natural light filtering in, the hallway is gloomy. Art students painted vibrant murals across the long stretch of concrete walls to brighten up the area. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling are activated by a motion sensor and flicker on as we reach the bottom step.
The auto mech lab sits midway between the two stairwells. I point out the other technology classes we also offer—welding, CNC, and machine shop—as we walk down the corridor. Since his son seems interested in cars, I fill Mr. Dmitriyev in on the credentials of our teaching staff. I also tell him about the agreement the district has with one of the local technical schools that enables students to continue their education after they’ve exhausted our course listings at no cost to the parent.
Victor doesn’t say much. He seems to be quietly absorbing everything. I tend to throw a lot of information at parents because there are so many great things happening at Lincoln High and in the surrounding community.
As we arrive at the double doors for the auto mech area, I slide the key into the lock. I don’t want to rush through the last part of the tour, but there’s something I don’t like about this man.
As I turn the handle, he roughly grabs me from behind and rests something on my throat. His other arm snakes around my waist and hauls me against his hard body.
Shock and panic grip me. “What-what are you doing?”
Victor’s warm breath drifts across my ear. “You need to listen very carefully, Sofia, and do exactly as I say.” He presses the cold metal further into my jugular until it breaks skin and continues in a low, sinister voice. “You won’t enjoy the consequences if you don’t, and I’d hate to see blood spilled all over your pretty shirt.”
A knife.
He’s holding a knife to my neck.
My mind empties. All I can focus on is the warm blood trickling down my throat.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I’m afraid to deepen the cut by breathing or swallowing or nodding. Tears fill my eyes as he presses down harder. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Good girl. No one needs to get hurt.” He chuckles. “At least not yet, they don’t.”
“What do you want?”
The heaviness of the blade stays firmly pressed against me. If I try to move, it’ll slice right through my jugular. The way he holds both me and the knife suggests this man is a professional. Too late, I realize I should have listened to the warning bells ringing in my head instead of dismissing them as paranoia.
“There’s a message that needs to be passed along to your father.”
“My father?” I ask, confused about why he matters right now.
“Yes, Enzo Valentini.” Again, he chuckles. “Did you think we weren’t aware of the connection? That we weren’t keeping tabs on you? That we couldn’t take you anytime we wanted?” His paper-dry lips press against the side of my face. The smell of cigarette smoke tinges my nostrils, making me nauseous. “Were you foolish enough to think that you could change your name and no one would realize who you were? That you couldn’t be dragged back into your father’s world if we had need of you?” He makes a soft clicking sound of admonishment with his tongue.
“Sorry, sweetheart, it doesn’t work that way. Although, you certainly made it easy. No security or guards. Out in the open, ready for the taking. All I had to do was make an appointment, and you came right to me.”
Spikes of fear careen through my body because everything he said is true. I’m used to moving anonymously through my life. It never crossed my mind that someone would come to the school and hurt me.
Closing my eyes, I try to calm my racing thoughts by taking deep, even breaths. “What do you want me to tell my father?”
“All in due time.” He loosens his hold on my waist and snakes a hand up my body to cup my breast. “I’d heard you were a real stunner. Now we get to meet in person. Lucky us.”
I try shifting out of his grasp, and he presses the knife harder. Stilling my movements, I whimper in pain.
“Ah, ah, ah. I wouldn’t wiggle around too much if I were you.” He squeezes my breast, digging his fingertips into the soft flesh.
“Please, don’t,” I plead.
He kisses the side of my face. “If another chat becomes necessary, I’ll do far more than mark up your neck.” Again, his fingers bite into me. “Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Nothing pisses me off more than having to repeat myself.”
Victor drags his tongue across my cheek. “You tell Enzo that the next time he steals a shipment from us, his beautiful daughter is going to disappear. But don’t worry, you’ll be returned one piece at a time.” He snickers. “Of course, we could always take a road trip to Philadelphia. Wouldn’t it be fun to surprise your sister with a visit?” He laughs at his own joke and continues. “Neither of you are safe. If Enzo values his family, he’ll return what he stole from us. Understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper hoarsely, repulsed by the way he licked me and terrified by his threats. Squeezing my eyes shut, I pray for him to leave now that he’s delivered his message. I cry out when his teeth sink into my earlobe.
“Good. I told them that with two college degrees, you were one smart cookie. Maybe we’ll run into one another again, hmm? You have such a charming little house. Although that alarm system isn’t so good. Very easy to circumvent.” He exhales a harsh, nicotine-tinged breath. “You’re a restless sleeper. Did you know that? Many nights I’ve watched you toss and turn.” He presses his face against my neck. “I know what could help with that.”
My knees weaken at the thought of this bastard breaking into my house, hovering over me, and watching me sleep. I have no idea if he’s telling the truth or trying to scare me.
“There’s nowhere you can hide that I can’t get to you.” To emphasize his words, he viciously pinches my breast. His hand and the knife disappear.
Unable to move, I keep my eyes tightly screwed shut while struggling to accept that this ordeal—this attack—is over. Bile rises up in my throat as the staccato clicks of his wingtips striking the tile floor grow fainter.
Shock takes over, and my knees give out. I crumble to the floor in a heap.
My fingers tremble as I gingerly touch the cut on my neck. Pulling my hand away, I look down at it. There isn’t as much blood as I’d imagined. As I sit on the floor, I realize that nothing but silence surrounds me. On shaky legs, I force myself to stand and bolt toward the stairwell at the other end of the hall, in the opposite direction from which we came. I can’t chance running into Victor Dmitriyev again.
Although I’m willing to bet he’s long gone.
He did what he came here for.
Now he’ll wait for me to deliver his message.