Chapter 22.

NORA CARUSO. Three days! I spent three days in that room nursing my wounds and the shattered remnants of my dignity. The first day, I cried. I cried until my eyes were swollen shut and my throat felt like it had been scrubbed with broken glass. I cried for the terror of the warehouse, for the searing pain in my finger, but mostly, I cried for the pathetic, naive girl who had fallen asleep on Nikolai Volkov's chest believing, for just a few hours, that she was safe. Do not mistake my obligation for affection. His words echoed in my mind, by the second day, the tears dried up. They were replaced by a hollow, aching numbness that settled deep in my chest. I stopped taking the heavy painkillers the doctor had left. By the morning of the third day, I was ready. I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the dressing room. My ribs still throbbed with every shallow breath, I chose a dress I hated but it covered the bruising on my arms and the bandages on my shoulder. I stared at my reflect