Chapter 11 The Lockdown
The lock clicks behind me and it sounds like a gunshot.
I stand in the middle of my tiny room and I stare at the door. I stare at the peeling paint and the wood grain and the heavy deadbolt that keeps me in.
I am shaking.
I am shaking so hard my teeth chatter and I have to wrap my arms around myself just to keep my bones from rattling apart.
You are the only thing my enemy wants more than my blood.
The words echo in my head and they bounce off the walls and they fill the room until there is no air left to breathe.
I am not a person. I am a thing. I am a chess piece on a board I can't see and Dante Caravelli just moved me to checkmate someone else.
I hate him.
I hate him with a violence that scares me. I hate him for taking me to that warehouse. I hate him for showing me off like a prize cow at an auction. I hate him for the way his hand felt on my shoulder, heavy and possessive and burning hot through my coat.
Mine.
He said it like he owns my soul. He said it like he bought the right to decide if I live or die.
I strip off my clothes. I rip them off like they are burning my skin. The coat. The uniform. The boots. I throw them in the corner and I stand there shivering in the cold air the room.
I need to wash. I need to scrub the smell of that warehouse off me. I need to scrub the feeling of his eyes off my skin.
I go to the tiny sink in the corner. The water is freezing. I splash it on my face and my neck and my arms. I scrub until my skin is red. I scrub until it hurts.
But I still feel it.
I feel the brand. I feel the mark he claimed he put on me.
I look at myself in the cracked mirror above the sink. My eyes are wild. My hair is a mess. I look like a victim.
"No," I whisper to the reflection. "No."
I am not a victim. I am a weapon. He thinks he owns me but you can't own a bomb. You can only hold it until it explodes.
I dress in my spare uniform. It’s stiff and scratchy but it feels like armor. I sit on the bed and I wait for the dawn.
I don't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see the ring. I see the black stone. I see the gun in his hand.
He is a monster. He is a cold-blooded monster who starts wars over property and calls it principle.
Morning comes slow and grey.
The house wakes up around me. I hear the pipes groaning. I hear footsteps in the hall.
But the rhythm is different today.
Usually it’s quiet. Usually it’s just the shuffle of tired servants.
Today it sounds like an army.
Heavy boots. Sharp commands. The clatter of metal on metal.
I open my door at 4:00 AM.
There is a guard standing right outside.
He isn't one of the usual house guards. He is big. He is wearing tactical gear. He is holding a rifle across his chest like he expects a war to break out in the hallway.
He looks at me and blocks the path.
"Where are you going," he asks and his voice is flat.
"To the kitchen," I say. "I work in the kitchen."
"ID."
"I don't have an ID. I live here. I scrub the floors."
He stares at me. He looks at a tablet strapped to his wrist. He scrolls down.
"Rosetti," he says.
"Yes."
"You are restricted."
My stomach drops. "Restricted to what."
"Restricted movement. You are to be escorted at all times. You do not leave the servant wing without clearance. You do not go outside. You do not talk to anyone outsie the household staff."
The cage just got smaller.
"I have to work," I say and I hate how desperate I sound. "Rosa will be angry if I'm late."
"Move," he says.
He steps behind me. He follows me down the hall.
I walk and I can feel him right on my heels. I can feel the barrel of the rifle pointing at my back.
Every hallway has a new guard. Every window has the shutters closed. The villa has turned into a bunker overnight.
And it’s my fault.
Because I am the key. Because the man in the warehouse wants me.
I walk into the kitchen and the silence hits me like a wall.
Usually it’s loud. Pots banging. People shouting.
Today it’s quiet.
Everyone stops what they are doing when I walk in. They look at me. They look at the guard standing behind me with a rifle.
Fear.
I smell it on them. It smells sour and sharp.
They know. They know something is happening and they know I am the cause.
"Get to work," the guard says. He takes a position by the door.
I walk to the sink. Rosa is there. She doesn't look at me. She is chopping onions with a speed that looks dangerous.
"Rosa," I whisper.
"Don't," she hisses. She doesn't look up. "Don't talk to me. Don't look at me. Just work."
"What is happening?"
"War," she says and the word is a curse. "War is happening. Because of you."
She slides a bucket toward me.
"Floors. Main hall. Go."
"The guard said I can't leave the servant wing."
"The main hall is dirty," she snaps. "Go."
She wants me out. She wants me gone because I am dangerous. I am a lightning rod and she doesn't want to be standing next to me when the strike comes.
I take the bucket. I take the mop.
The guard follows me.
I walk to the main hall. It’s a cavern of marble and shadows.
I start mopping.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
The guard stands by the archway. He watches me. He watches the door.
I am trapped.
I am trapped in a house with a man who killed my mother and now I am going to be the reason this house burns down.
And I don't care.
Let it burn. Let the other buyer come. Let them tear this place apart brick by brick.
Maybe in the chaos I can slip away. Maybe in the fire I can find a way to kill Dante before he kills me.
I hear voices.
Dante.
He is coming down the stairs.
I freeze. I grip the mop handle until my knuckles turn white.
He is walking with Giovanni. He is wearing a grey suit today. He looks impeccable. He looks untouched.
He looks like he didn't just threaten three men in a warehouse last night.
"Double the perimeter," Dante is saying. "I want eyes on the coast road. If a squirrel crosses the property line I want to know about it."
"The men are tired, Don," Giovanni says. "Double shifts for three days..."
"Then hire more men," Dante says. "I don't care about the cost. I care about the security."
He stops at the bottom of the stairs.
He sees me.
He doesn't say anything. He doesn't acknowledge me. He looks right through me like I am part of the architecture. Like I am just a stain on the floor he is payiing someone to clean up.
He turns back to Giovanni.
"And the girl," he says.
My heart hammers.
"What about her?"
"Is she contained?"
"Yes. Guard on her 24/7. No access to the grounds."
"Good. Keep her close. If she tries to leave..."
He pauses. He looks at me again. His eyes are cold. Empty. There is no warmth in them. There is no humanity.
"If she tries to leave," he says, "lock her in the cellar. I don't have time to chase runaway assets."
Assets.
He walks away. He walks out the front door with Giovanni trailing behind him.
I stand there with the mop in my hand and I shake with rage.
The cellar.
He would lock me in the dark. He would throw me in a hole in the ground like a sack of potatoes just to keep his property safe.
He is heartless.
He doesn't care that I am a person. He doesn't care that I am scared. He only cares that he wins.
I hate him.
I hate him more than I thought it was possible to hate anything.
I finish the floor. I scrub until the marble shines. I scrub until I see my own distorted reflection in the stone.
I look angry. I look dangerous.
Good.
I go back to my room when the shift is over. The guard marches me back like a prisoner.
He locks the door from the outside.
I hear the click. I’m alone.
I pull my phone out from under the mattress. My hands are trembling. I check the screen, one new message. It’s from the Unknown Number.
I stare at the screen. The last time they texted was the first night. Don't keep the Devil waiting.
I open the message.
My blood goes cold.
He thinks he can keep you in a cage.
I look around the room. The walls. The bars on the window. The heavy door.
Dante thinks his walls are high enough. He thinks his guards are strong enough.
But cages have keys.
I read the next line and my phone almost slips from my hand.
And I just bought the locksmith.