Here, there’s a staff room and kitchen, but more importantly, the war room—which Romeo uses as his office—and an entrance to the secret wine cellar.
“This room isn’t so secret anymore, but it used to be,” I tell her. I trace the edge of the heavy woodwork with my fingertip to draw out the hidden doorway. It appears when I hit the final corner of the door.
“Whoa,” Emma breathes. “I bet this place has all sorts of secrets, doesn’t it?”
“Ohhh, yes,” I say with a nod. “Most definitely. No one knew there was a secret wine cellar when the Montavio family owned this house, but we discovered it when my parents bought it.”
“Interesting. Why a secret wine cellar? I mean, the dining room looks as if your family definitely enjoys their wine.”
“Secret passages were built into castles for the wealthy. Royalty, aristocrats, and the rich had tunnels and rooms for escape or stealth operations. I’ve been told my great-great-grandfather had this room built because he continued to import wine during Prohibition.”
“Ahh. Sneaky.”
I turn a key, and a wooden panel gives way to another doorway, then the secret entrance to the wine cellar. I flip the switch for the lights just inside the door, and they flicker on.
“Whoa.”
She should be scared down here. There are no means of escape that she’d be aware of. There was a secret tunnel that led here from the chapel, but the chapel is no longer functional, and Romeo had the access blocked. Still…
I don’t know if she’s scared, though, or more enchanted than anything. She keeps reaching out and touching things, gingerly stroking the wall sconces or cold stone wall. Catching her breath at every turn.
I call Romeo.
“You downstairs?” he asks.
“Yeah, and I brought a guest.”
“Very good. Well done, Mario.”
I give myself half a minute to bask in his praise. It’s sparing, and I can’t remember the last time he said anything like it directed at me.
He doesn’t trust her. He wanted her here.
One by one, my brothers enter the secret wine room. Romeo’s followed by Orlando, the largest and most intimidating of the bunch. Emma visibly recoils at his presence.
Tavi comes next, looking tired and weary, having traveled recently from Tuscany. But even tired and travel-worn, he looks serious and intimidating. Santo follows Tavi, then Dario, one of our newest recruits and one of the few not related by blood. He served time with Orlando, and they forged a friendship. Dario’s been an incredible asset to us.
The inner sanctum of our brotherhood gathers in the small interior. The reason I brought her here is twofold: I don’t want anyone overhearing our conversation, and I don’t want her observing anything she shouldn’t. It might also be helpful for her to be in a place where she feels a bit of the weight we carry here. She knows how isolated she is, and that no one will hear her if she screams.
Could be helpful.
We sit on padded stools. Emma watches us silently, observing everything she can. She’s keen on the art of observation, that much I know. I can tell just by the way her gaze roves over everything, and has since the moment we met. And though she looks a little scared, there’s something else in her eyes she can’t hide—she’s excited. Thrilled, even. A part of me wonders if she hoped I’d bring her here.
“Hey,” Orlando says, smiling at her. “You must be Emma.”
She looks surprised that he knows her name, but I’m not. They’ve been digging since I told them about her.
Romeo’s eyes narrow on her as he folds his hands on his knee, and I’m reminded that he’s our father’s son.
“Emma.” He nods. “You stole from my brother.”
She blanches.
“Tonight I punished her for stealing from me,” I say. “And when we left the club, she was attacked. I defended her, but it became abundantly clear to me that we need answers.”
“We absolutely do,” Romeo says solemnly. “You know who we are, don’t you, Emma?”
For the first time, I feel a protective surge at the way he and my brothers look at her. I put an arm around her shoulders and draw her to me.
“She does. You prepared to tell us everything, doll?”
Her eyes widen even further. “I’ll tell you as much as I can.”
Romeo’s nostrils flare, indicating that isn’t good enough for him, but when I give him a quick shake of my head, silently asking him to trust me, he concedes. He gives a casual nod to Santo, who sits with a small laptop propped on his knees. I know then. It doesn’t matter what she tells us. They already know. They’ll only be testing to see how much she’s willing to freely admit.
I pull out my phone. “Screen share, Santo.”
With a click of a button, my phone mimics his screen.
He’s run facial recognition software, and it’s all right there on the screen.