Isidora pats Niki’s shoulder, an obviously condescending gesture. “Nikita, I think it’s time to find you a man. You’re so sensitive. You need someone to take care of, to give you perspective.”
“When I want a man, I’ll find one myself,” Nikita snaps. “Until then, I’m happy to be single and in control of my own life. I’d hate to have to spend every day with my own personal watchdog shadowing my every move.”
Sure enough, Manuel, the castrated bodyguard Nessa described to me, is lurking a few yards away. At the mention of her jailer, Isidora’s face falls. And in that moment, I catch a glimpse of just how unhappy she seems. How miserable and cruel. How she’s so sick of tearing herself apart that she has to do the same to other people, just to get by.
Isidora turns her scowl from Nikita to me
