Her heart stopped at that moment. Then she remembered Mrs. Harris's words. She prayed silently that he wasn't the ruthless man she had been warned about—because if he was, she would have to consider herself dead.
The other man reached for a gun tucked into his waistband, ready to pull the trigger at her, but he was stopped by the handsome man who had just tortured Mr. Marino—with nothing more than a neat glare.
He walked over to the couch, ever so gracefully, strutting like a model, and settled onto it. From the inner pocket of his suit, he pulled a lighter and lit his cigarette. Throughout, Melody kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her head bowed in a kneeling position. She was still shaking, unsure of her fate that night. But she could bet her life that it would end before dawn.
Mr. Beautiful Eyes puffed out smoke, still assessing Melody carefully. "Shark did not tell me about any bishōjo working for him."
(Translation: bishōjo means "beautiful woman" in Japanese.)
His tone was gruff, but it carried an accent she couldn't place—one that made his words seductive, dreamy, and dangerous. Now, Melody was certain he had women lined up just to sleep with him. But again, that was none of her business.
"What's your name?"
Melody heard him ask.
She trembled, hot tears welling in her eyes.
She recalled how she had landed herself in this situation and wished desperately that she had stood her ground and declined Nicola's offer.
"Van mentioned a mute girl serving for the night. Maybe she is the one," the other man said in his Italian accent, addressing Mr. Beautiful Eyes.
Mr. Beautiful Eyes said nothing, but Melody could feel his gaze lingering on her, watching carefully, almost like a predator. Her skin crawled with discomfort.
"Look at me."
The sudden command froze her heart. Slowly, she raised her head, tears streaming freely as their gazes met again.
He lounged on the couch, cigarette pinched between two fingers as he inhaled and exhaled smoke. Her lips quivered.
Her earlier description hadn't done him justice.
He was breathtaking—sculpted as if by the hands of gods. Jet-black hair parted neatly in the middle. A perfectly tailored charcoal three-piece suit. His tie loosened around his neck. A Rolex gleamed on his wrist, and a diamond ring shone from the middle finger of his left hand. No tattoos in sight.
He leaned back in his seat, watching her with unnerving calm. "What is the name?"
Her trembling fingers rose, and she signed with tears blurring her vision: "Please, can you let me go? I'll do anything you want."
His brow arched. "Who among the boys can read sign language?" he asked the Italian man, his eyes never leaving Melody.
"I am not sure there is any, sir."
"Find one. I'll pay."
The man nodded and hurried out, leaving Melody alone with him—and his suffocating scent. During her sobbing, while staring at the glossy black tiles, she became painfully aware of it. Woody. Rich. Spicy. Scent so strong she could taste the bitterness on the roof of her mouth.
A few minutes later, the man returned. "He will be here in ten minutes, boss."
Mr. Beautiful Eyes nodded and lit another cigarette. Melody kept her eyes pinned to the ground, forcing herself to calm down. But each time the image of Mr. Marino's mutilated corpse flashed in her mind—the man who had plucked his eyes out sitting right there in the same room—her heart rate spiked again.
Soon, the man left and re-entered with another figure. Melody didn't dare look up; her gaze remained glued to the floor.
"My name is Gideon, sir. It's a pleasure to—" the man began, but Mr. Beautiful Eyes cut him off.
"Save it," he breathed. "Translate whatever she says. Leave nothing out."
"Certainly!" Gideon bowed.
Mr Beautiful Eyes turned to Melody. "Hey, koibito?"
Melody slowly raised her tear-streaked face.
"Go on."
She signed with trembling hands: "My name is Melody. But I'm pleading with you to release me. I swear, I won't say a word."
The short, plump man with a receding hairline and crooked nose translated faithfully.
"Melody. A beautiful name." He began, "Melody, how did Van employ you?"
She signed again, desperation lacing her movements. "I was introduced by a friend. All I wanted was to make money from a one-week part-time job, just enough to move out with my boyfriend. I know nothing about what you do here, sir. I promise I won't say a word."
The man translated.
Mr. Beautiful Eyes's expression fell.
"You have a boyfriend?" he asked softly, puffing out another stream of smoke.
Melody nodded, unaware of the change in his countenance.
"Does he work here?"
She shook her head and signed: "He is training for his internship in Georgia."
"What is his name?"
"Nate," she signed. "Nate Lucas."
The man translated.
"I'm Chase Laurent," Mr. Beautiful Eyes introduced himself. Melody did not care for his name, but she nodded anyway, hoping it would hasten the moment he let her go. "I stay around here, and I need your company."
Melody froze.
"How much does Van plan to pay you?"
She signed to the translator, still trying to process what she had just heard.
"One hundred thousand dollars, sir," the man translated to Mr. Chase.
"I'll pay five hundred thousand dollars. Accompany me for the rest of the time you'll work here."