“My sister is a superb actress,” bragged Gray.
György smiled at me. “You were quite brave.”
Was I? I didn’t feel particularly brave, and as for my skill as an actress, it was surprising how little effort was required to get a man killed. I’d worked harder at memorizing Cole Porter lyrics before a gig with the trio. But the worst of it was that I didn’t care. Frankie lay slumped on the kitchen table not two feet from Jakub and me, his face a horrible violet color, eyes bulging out of their sockets. The way he’d tormented us, the sadistic pleasure he took in flaunting his power: there was nothing human in him, no decency or compassion. He’d have killed us without a moment’s hesitation, just for fun, and I had no regrets about the part I’d played in his death. But it was a small part, going
