The Empire of Sin

ther, creating a presence that was a sort of palpable force-field. My eyes were still glued to the polished steel doors, impassively watching my own reflection: a pale

ly stood next to mine. No chiming to signal when the elevator was slowing: the

ing tapestry. The lights of millions of people flickered like fallen stars, light-years away from this sterile silent peak. The furniture was minimalist yet somber: a low black leather sofa; a glass table; chrome chairs that resembled sculptures more

polished black marble floor. He stood by the wall of windo

ecutioner pronouncing a death sentence. "You do not leave this penthouse. You do not speak to anyone without my permissio

raid to whowhen she was right-fizzled. "You can't do this," I whispered, the words sounding pat

g puppy. "You are whatever I say you are," he replied in soft tones. "You were bought and paid for. Your father saw to that. The question of your

ly blank except for a single, gigantic object draped with heavy, dark red velvet. It was completely out of place among cold, modern decor. It had t

l drawing me closer, "did not have a problem with gambling;

ct, my feet were moving against my will. I halted a few feet short as

ed, locking his eyes onto mine, hol

he air itself. I kept staring, my very mind refusing to internalize what it saw: the painting-magnificent life-sized po

se. The eyes...her most distinct feature, a very unusual shade of green flecked with golden, the one thing the artist got perfectly. They seemed to stare out from the painting with such life and light it felt like a

me kind of sick tribute to mock me with the image of the one person

it. "No," he said, a quiet tone of voice but one that cleaved through my confu

nded into riot. "What? Of cour

nsity. "But that is not Elena Romano." Now he took a step closer toward the painting and raised his hand, hove

different lineages, there existed an absolute uncanny resemblance: a perfect genetic echo across two diverse families. The pieces slammed together in my mind with sickening force. The astronomical price. The talk of old, generational debts. His cold, possessive satisfaction that had nothing to do with desire. He hadn't bo

ndifference on his face slipped for just a moment, and I saw a flicker of something ancient and raw i

er to me, and a slow, chilling smile to

red, the sound slithering into the s