The Black Wolf (In the Company of Killers, #5)(27)

“Not without my permission, no,” he says. “But depending on the circumstances, it may be in our best interest that I give permission.”

He looks at Nora again briefly, and a sly smile passes over his features.

“Now about your names,” he says. “I’m adopting an old Italian tradition—a Moretti tradition, anyway: my girls can only bear names with three letters. More than three implies that a girl has earned a higher place beside her master than slave.” He points to Nora. “You’ll be Aya.” Then he looks at me and says, “And you’ll be Naomi.”

That’s my real middle name.

Only a little surprised, I think about the five-letter name for a second, knowing right away why he gave it to me: so he doesn’t have to treat me the same way Nora will likely be treated. As much as I appreciate the special treatment, I can’t help but feel bad about it, too. I want to be as good as Nora in all things; I want to live up to her skill and be taken as seriously in this line of work as everyone takes her.

“OK,” I say, “so what exactly will be the difference between Aya and Naomi?”

Niklas looks me straight in the face.

“Aya will be my slave,” he says, “but you, Naomi, will unfortunately have to suffer the role of being my girlfriend.”

My brows draw inward.

“But I thought I was going to play the slave role, too?” It dawns on me now that earlier he said Nora should familiarize herself with the terms and rules.

He leans forward, his elbows on the tops of his legs.

“You’ll play the role that I tell you to play, Izzy,” he says firmly, “or I don’t go. That’s the condition. Take it or leave it. I can take another plane right back to Boston when we land if I need to.”

Furious, I let my breath out long and hard, crossing my arms over my chest and pressing my back to the seat.

“This is bullshit.”

“Call it what you want,” he says, leaning back up, “but it’s the way it’s gonna be.”

“How am I ever going to learn if everybody keeps treating me like a child? I can play the role of a slave, Niklas—”

“No you can’t,” he says calmly, not looking at me.

“Dammit, Niklas, I was a slave for nine years!”

“And that’s exactly why you’re not going to do it!” he snaps, his eyes hard, full of authority and resolve—his sudden shift of temperament stuns me.

I clench my fists against the seat beneath me.

Niklas leans forward again, seizing my gaze. “It’s bad enough you’re doing this at all,” he says. “The things you’ll see; the environment; the shit that neither you nor I will be able to stop, that we’ll have to pretend we’re used to, that I enjoy, that you’re indifferent to—it’s a big enough risk having someone like you, who was a slave for nine years”—he reiterates my own argument—“but going as far as turning you into a slave again—it’s not gonna happen; might as well throw the gas on the fire .”

I’m experiencing the conversation with Victor about me going back to Mexico, all over again. And it infuriates me. I know I can do this. I know I can play the role of a slave without breaking character, without dark memories of my old life interfering with my performance. Why don’t they trust me? Why won’t they give me a chance to prove myself? I wonder if Victor knows about this. Since he and Niklas aren’t talking, I’m guessing he doesn’t. And he didn’t have a problem with it at our meeting; he didn’t demand I play Niklas’s ‘girlfriend’—this is all Niklas’s doing, and I wonder if it’s not some game he’s playing to get back at Victor.

“What’s it gonna be?” Niklas says.

For a long time I just look at him, and then I glance at Nora. She shrugs casually, but says nothing on the matter. There’s not much she can say, really, because she knows as well as I do that Niklas is not the type to cave—what he says goes, and that’s that.

I turn to look at Niklas again, who sits in his polished suit, waiting for my answer.

Figuratively biting my tongue, I lick the dryness from my lips and say with a nod, “OK. I’ll play whatever role you give me.”

Niklas nods in return.

“So I take it I get to be a snobbish, wealthy bitch again like I was on my first mission with Victor?” I rest my back against the seat and cross my legs. I kind of miss playing that role, the first time I ever became Izabel Seyfried—as a character, anyway—being her was exciting.

“No,” Niklas answers. “You definitely won’t be a snobby bitch. You may not be my slave, but you’re still submissive to me, would never raise your voice or show defiance. Besides, a mouthy bitch is more likely to put a target on your back, give Francesca more reason to want to slit your pretty little throat. I want you to be kind and pleasant, Izzy—hope that’s not too hard for you.” He smirks.

I smirk right back at him.

“But like I said before,” he goes on, “just keep your mouth shut—your normal mouth anyway.” He pauses and looks me right in the eyes. “And I apologize in advance—for the record.”

I don’t like the sound of that.

“For what?” I ask, wary.

Niklas keeps a straight face.