Crap.
I glance past Aurielo’s shoulder.
Can I make a dash for the door and make it out?
It’s about twenty feet behind him.
It’s not the front entrance, but I’ll happily take any exit that will keep me from ending up arrested for trespassing.
My job has a zero-tolerance policy for breaking the law.
“What’s the problem?” Aurielo asks.
I glance up at him. Will he hand me over when he discovers that I wasn’t invited?
“Sir, she’s not Etta Bianchi.”
Aurielo’s hold refuses to loosen, his grip tighter than ever.
“You think I don’t know that already, Francesco?” Aurielo asks. “Get back to your post. She’s with me.”
Francesco huffs under his breath and turns on his heel, retreating down the hallway.
“Thank you,” I say, relieved that he came to my defense.
Aurielo pulls me silently down the hallway for the door.
He doesn’t look at me. His jaw is firm, his shoulders square. There’s something he isn’t saying. Aurielo unlocks the four deadbolts and grabs the door handle, pulling it wide open.
It seems a bit like overkill, having four deadbolts. Who are these people?
“You need to leave.”