Maria.A name. A small piece of information, but a start. It’s always better to know the names of the people in your prison.
Maria nods, seeming to accept my politeness. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, thank you. Unless...” I hesitate, as if the thought has just occurred to me. “Is Mr. Varela joining me for dinner?”
“He’s on a call. Business.” She pauses, then adds, “He said he’d be by later.”
I nod. “I understand. Thank you, Maria.”
After she leaves, I eat mechanically, not because Nico ordered it, but because my body needs fuel. My brain needs fuel. I can’t afford weakness now.
As I eat, I continue mapping the apartment’s surveillance blind spots, testing the cameras’ tracking patterns with subtle movements. By the time I finish my meal, I’ve confirmed my earlier findings and identified one additional blind zone near the bathroom door.
It’s nearly 9 PM when the door opens again. This time, it’s Nico.
He’s changed clothes since our earlier confrontation. His dark slacks and a charcoal sweater make him look almost approachable. Except, the cold calculation in his eyes ruins the effect.
“I see you ate,” he observes, glancing at my empty plate.
“I was hungry,” I reply with deliberate neutrality. Not defiant, not submissive. Just stating a fact.
He looks at me, likely searching for signs of the rage or terror I displayed earlier. I give him nothing. My face is a carefully constructed mask of resignation. The look of someone who hasn’t accepted defeat but has acknowledged the futility of immediate resistance.
“How are your feet?” he asks, moving further into the room.
“Painful. But the medication helps.”
He nods, then gestures toward the living area visible through the open door. “Join me. We have matters to discuss.”
It’s not a request. I rise slowly, testing my weight on my bandaged feet. The pain is significant but manageable. I followhim out of my suite, along a hallway leading into the main living space, taking in every detail as we go.
The great room is stunning. An open-concept space dominated by a wall of glass overlooking the darkened lake. A massive fireplace of rough-hewn stone anchors one wall, with a contemporary sectional in butter-soft leather positioned before it. The overall aesthetic is masculine minimalism. Expensive no doubt but understated. No family photos, no personal touches. Nothing that reveals the man behind the power.
Nico shows I should sit on the sectional. He remains standing, moving to a bar cart where he pours himself a measure of whiskey.
“Would you like a drink?” he asks, the picture of civility.
“No, thank you.” My voice is even. I’m building a new Lea Song, not the defiant journalist or broken captive he expects. Someone in between. Someone who might convince him she’s accepting her situation, but never actually surrendering.
He takes a seat opposite me, his posture relaxed but alert. Like a predator at rest who’s comfortable but always ready to strike.
“We need to establish parameters,” he begins, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re here because you possess sensitive information about ongoing business matters. Information that makes you valuable to some and dangerous to others.”
I nod, saying nothing.
“Your comfort and safety depend entirely on your cooperation, Lea. We can make this an extended, if restrictive, stay at a luxury property. Or we can make it a far more unpleasant confinement. The choice is yours.”
I size him up, figuring out how to play this. Agree too fast, and he’ll know something’s up. Fight him too hard, and things will get worse.
“What exactly does ‘cooperation’ entail?” I ask, my tone neutral.
“Transparency, compliance with security protocols. No attempts to contact anyone outside this house.” He leans forward slightly. “And honesty, Lea. Be completely honest with me about what you know, what you’ve deduced, and what you might be planning.”
The irony is almost painful. Nico Varela, master manipulator and liar, demanding honesty.
I allow a beat of silence to pass, as if considering his terms. Then, I give him a slow, deliberate nod. Not enthusiastic, not resistant. Just a simple acknowledgment.
“I understand,” I say.
