Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO SPOKE ELEVEN LANGUAGES
Mira woke in a guest room that cost more per night than her monthly rent.
The curtains were heavy.
The sheets smelled of lavender.
A security camera watched the hallway outside.
She sat upright.
Her clothes had been replaced with clean pajamas.
A note rested beside the bed.
Your belongings are in the closet. Breakfast is downstairs. No one will enter without knocking.
Signed:
Dante Castellano.
Mira stared at the note.
Then at the locked door.
She tested the handle.
It opened.
That surprised her.
Downstairs, Dante sat at a long table reading a newspaper.
A white bandage covered his left hand.
He looked up.
“Good morning.”
Mira stopped.
“Where am I?”
“My house.”
“Why?”
“Because Sergei Volkov knows your face.”
She folded her arms.
“And that means I live here now?”
Dante set down the paper.
“No. It means you're safer here until we can arrange something else.”
Mira stared.
“You could have asked.”
His expression changed.
“Fair.”
She looked at his bandaged hand.
“Were you hurt?”
“Not seriously.”
“Someone died.”
Dante's eyes darkened.
“Yes.”
Mira looked away.
He gestured toward a chair.
“Breakfast?”
“No.”
“You should eat.”
“I should go home.”
Dante nodded.
“Then we'll discuss how to do that safely.”
Mira sat reluctantly.
A housekeeper brought coffee.
Dante watched her.
“You speak Russian.”
“Yes.”
“How well?”
“Fluently.”
“Any other languages?”
Mira hesitated.
“Several.”
“How many?”
“Eleven, depending on how you count dialects.”
Dante stared.
“Eleven?”
She looked irritated.
“It's not a magic trick.”
His mouth twitched.
“I didn't say it was.”
She explained her education.
Her master's degree.
Her research.
The rejected funding proposals.
The academic positions that never materialized.
Dante listened.
Then asked:
“Why wait tables?”
Mira laughed bitterly.
“Because landlords rarely accept linguistic theory as payment.”
For the first time, Dante smiled.
A real smile.
Brief.
Unexpected.
He leaned forward.
“Would you consider working for me?”
Mira stared.
“No.”
Dante blinked.
“May I ask why?”
“Because last night I nearly died after translating one sentence for you.”
He nodded.
“Reasonable.”
She stood.
“I don't want your money. I don't want your protection if it means becoming your prisoner. I want my life back.”
Dante looked at her.
Then said quietly:
“I understand.”
Mira studied him.
“No. I don't think you do.”
May you like
He didn't argue.
And somehow, that made her more unsettled.
