“I know enough to keep my mouth shut and do my job.”
“Which is?”
She glances around the empty lobby again and lowers her voice until I have to strain to hear. “Making sure the gallery looks legitimate while other business gets handled upstairs.”
“Other business?”
“The kind that involves men with guns and conversations about people who don’t pay their debts.” Her voice cracks slightly on the last word.
“And what do people think about my marriage?” I watch her face carefully, noting how she flinches at the question.
Marina’s face goes even paler, and she looks like she might be sick. “People think it’s very sudden. Very convenient.”
“Convenient how?”
“Mrs. Kozlov—Katya—I can’t—” She shakes her head frantically, backing toward the wall.
“Please. I need to know.”
“People are saying you appeared out of nowhere. No family, no friends, no history with him before a few weeks ago. Some think you saw something you shouldn’t have, and now he’s keeping you quiet.”
“By marrying me?”
“By making you think you married him.”
The room tilts, my stomach drops. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“I’ve worked in Moscow long enough to know how men like your husband operate. Loose ends don’t walk around freely. Either you disappear permanently, or you become useful to them in some other way.” She’s speaking faster now, the words tumbling over each other.
“And how am I useful?”
“I don’t know. But whatever happened to you, whatever or whoever you were before… he needs you to forget it and become something else.” She glances at her watch as panic creeps into her voice. “He’s been in there too long. He’ll be back soon.”
Before I can ask more questions, footsteps echo from the hallway behind the private door. Marina jumps away and starts talking about the paintings in a bright, fake voice.
“The brushwork in this period really shows the influence of German Expressionism?—”
The door opens, and two men in expensive suits walk out, followed by Dmitri. The men nod respectfully at him and head for the exit, looking relieved to be leaving.
Dmitri’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he approaches us. “I see you’ve met Marina.”
“She’s been telling me about the gallery’s collection.”
“Has she?” His green eyes fix on Marina, and I watch her shrink into herself, her shoulders hunching forward. “How informative.”
“Mr. Kozlov, I was just—” Marina’s voice is barely more than a squeak.
“I’m sure you were just doing your job. Weren’t you, Marina?” He doesn’t raise his voice, but something in his tone makes her take another step backward.
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
The fear in her voice is unmistakable. Whatever power Dmitri holds over people, it comes from violence, not respect.
“Well, I’ve finished my meeting.” He moves to my side and places his hand on the small of my back with just a little too much pressure. “Ready to go home?”
“Actually, I was hoping to look around more. Marina was just about to show me some pieces upstairs.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible today. Perhaps another time.” His fingers press deeper into my back in a warning.
