“No.” My tongue darts out to wet my dry lips. I lower my eyes to the bedding. “She’s dead.”
“How did she die?”
Shaking my head, I frown at him. “Why are you asking me personal questions? It won’t help you find Mr. Mazur.”
“Just answer me,” he orders, his tone clearly stating I better comply if I know what’s good for me.
Letting out a sigh, I mutter, “She died of bronchitis when I was twelve.”
Gabriel nods, then gives me one of his unnerving stares that has a tendency to rattle me. “What did your work entail?”
My fingers fist the covers, and I wrap my other arm around my waist, hoping to lessen the pain.
“I cleaned the mansion, prepared beverages, and got Mr. Mazur’s meals for him.” I really don’t understand Gabriel’s line of questioning.
“Were you the only one who took care of his meals and beverages?”
The frown deepens again on my forehead. “No. Agnes, another maid, would sometimes help.”
“So just the two of you touched his food and drinks?”
The apprehension thickens in my chest. “Yes.”
Gabriel nods, his piercing gaze cutting right through me. “Mazur trusts you.”
Shit.
Now I understand the line of questioning, and I’ve stepped right into the damn trap he set up for me.
Desperately wanting to get myself out of the hole I’m stuck in, I say, “Mr. Mazur doesn’t trust anyone. I just did my job so he wouldn’t kill me.”
His eyes narrow. “How much did he pay you?”
“Nothing.” I swallow hard on the fear this man makes me feel. “We got food to eat and a bed to sleep in.”
“Are you legally in America?”
I nod quickly. “But my personal documents are at the mansion.” Along with the only belongings I owned.
Gabriel walks to the chair, and when he takes a seat, my heart sinks. If he’s getting comfortable, it means the interrogation is far from over.
After he unbuttons his jacket, he settles his arms on the armrests. His fingers lightly tap against the upholstery.
Everything about this man feels calculated.
Our eyes lock, his light brown irises filled with intelligence.
He inhales deeply, then asks, “Have you traveled with Mazur?”
“Rarely,” I whisper.
Giving in to my thirst, I reach for the glass next to the bed and take a couple of sips, savoring how the cool liquid soothes my mouth and throat.
“Where have you traveled with him?”
I set the glass down. For the millionth time since I woke up, I glance around the room, unconsciously looking for anything I can use as a weapon.
“Only to Poland.”
“Where in Poland?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. We traveled by private jet, and I always stayed in the house.”
Gabriel lifts a hand to his face, his fingers brushing over his jaw. “Who are Mazur’s allies?”
How am I supposed to know something like that?
“Ahh… Marcel? He’s the head of the guards. If Mr. Mazur trusts anyone, it’s Marcel.” I’d gladly throw Marcel under the bus if it got me out of the hot seat.
A frown line forms between Gabriel's eyes, making him look more threatening. “Dudek. How long has he worked for Mazur?”
I don’t know. “He has always been there.”
“Why were you at Aqua?”
The question is random, but the moment the words register, ice pours through my veins.
“To get dinner for Mr. Mazur,” I answer the same as before.
Gabriel leans forward, and resting his forearms on his thighs, he links his hands. His intense gaze bores into mine. “Did you try to plant a tracking device on me?”
What?
“No!” I shake my head vehemently.
“Were you supposed to kill me?”
God.
My chin starts to tremble. “No.”
“Why were you at Aqua?”
I gasp for air, fear gripping my throat in a strangling hold. It’s hard to squeeze the words out. “To get dinner for Mr. Mazur.”
Gabriel stands up, and as he buttons his jacket, he slowly walks closer to me.
I struggle up from the bed, the chain rattling. My legs feel weak, and sweat beads on my forehead.
He stops in front of me and stares me down until I feel more vulnerable than I’ve ever felt in my life. I keep my head lowered and my eyes trained on the carpet, every muscle in my body on high alert.
“I really hope for your sake, the next time we talk, you will have something of importance to tell me.”
Or else?
When I glance up, Gabriel’s eyes slice through mine, his expression cold, merciless, and filled with promises of pain.
He turns around and leaves the bedroom, then air whooshes from my lungs, and I slump down on the side of the bed.
Dear God.
Chapter 8
Gabriel
It’s been an entire week, and Lara keeps giving me the same answers. It’s clear as fucking day she’s scared shitless, and my gut tells me she hasn’t lied to me.
Yet.
Still, I’m no closer to finding Mazur. The fucker vanished into thin air.
Walking into the cottage, I ask, “Still the same?”
“Evet,” Murat answers. “She eats, showers, and tries to get out of the shackle. She hasn’t asked Nisa Hanim to help her escape again. Nothing new.”