Marked by the Vor

The following evening, twilight settled over the Manhattan skyline in bruised shades of violet and cold charcoal. Inside the private music salon of the Tribeca penthouse, the only illumination came from a dozen tall pillar candles flickering in glass cylinders and the amber glow of the city lights pouring through the floor-to-ceiling casements. Anya Petrova sat on the wooden performance stool, cradling her Gagliano cello. She wore a simple off-the-shoulder…