Pretending to stroll at leisure, Batya walked slowly toward the Jewish Colonization Association office. It would take a horde of righteous people from within the sex industry to bring down Zwi Migdal, she thought. The pimps would never speak against themselves, so only the prostitutes could reveal the truth. But who would dare? And who would listen to a girl in bondage? Both were as unlikely as snow in Buenos Aires. Anyone speaking out would be murdered before anything could be accomplished.

The Baron’s office was in Recoleta, the most stylish district of the city. The northeast part of the neighborhood was home to private mansions built in European styles. In its center stretched a grand cemetery, where generations of nobles and the landowning elite rested in their families’ crypts and mausoleums. The wealthier section of Junín Street passed through the heart of Recoleta and was lined with expensive stores and outdoor cafés serving the most prominent members of Buenos Aires society.

From a café-turned–dance hall wafted the music of a tango band. These dance halls, milongas, had sprouted in La Boca, but this was the first time Batya had encountered one in a fancy neighborhood. She was further astonished to see that, like in the brothel, tango was danced here in the middle of the day.

She leaned on the railing outside and watched through the large windows the silhouettes of the dancers. Unlike her favorite skimpy dance costume, the women wore long, dark dresses whose flouncing fabric allowed no hint of the bodies swaying underneath. Batya could only guess at the women’s steps, yet her muscles tightened as her body recognized the familiar rhythm.