Chapter 16 The Revolt
The room had transformed from a guest suite into a sensory deprivation tank built of expensive mahogany and silk.
For twenty-four hours, the silence of the third floor pressed against my eardrums. It was heavy and suffocating, interrupted only by the rhythmic thud of my own pulse.
I had spent the morning sitting cross-legged in front of the locked closet door. I stared at the wood grain until the patterns began to swim and twist like snakes before my eyes. The silver key sat less than three feet away on the interior doorframe.
It was the key to the tunnels and the secrets rotting in the walls of Villa Caravelli, but it might as well have been at the bottom of the ocean. Dante had taken the brass key to the wardrobe, effectively sealing the only exit I had left.
I was trapped in a rapidly closing vice. The photograph of my mother was hidden deep inside my boot, burning against my ankle like a brand.
The message was no longer just a clue. It was a taunt. Whoever was pulling the strings from the outside, was waiting for me to make a move while I sat here waiting to be slaughtered.
My stomach cramped with a hollow, twisting pain that reminded me I had not eaten since the previous morning. But the hunger was secondary to the rage.
The rage was a living thing inside me, a hot coal swallowed whole that scorched my throat and kept the fear at bay.
I stood up and walked to the balcony doors, pressing my hand against the cold glass.
Below, the grounds were a hive of activity. Guards patrolled in pairs with their breath puffing white in the chill air, rifles slung across their chests. The fortress was locked down.
Dante thought he had contained me.
He thought that by putting me in a gilded cage and stripping away my freedom, he could force me into submission. He believed I was a scared girl who would eventually curl up on the bed and cry.
He had forgotten who raised me. He had forgotten that before my father became a gambler, he was a king. He had taught me that a cornered animal has two choices. It can die cowering, or it can die biting.
I chose to bite.
The electronic lock on the bedroom door chirped at six in the evening.
I moved instantly. I did not retreat to the bed or cower in the corner. I stood in the center of the room with my hands loose at my sides and my breathing shallow and controlled.
The door swung open to reveal a maid I had not seen before. She was young, barely twenty, with wide, terrified eyes and hands that shook as she balanced a heavy silver tray.
"Dinner, miss," she whispered, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor.
She stepped into the room. The door began to drift shut behind her, but it did not latch yet.
"Put it on the table," I said. My voice was raspy from disuse.
She turned toward the small table by the window, exposing her back to me. I stopped breathing.
I did not look at the food. I looked at the ring of keys clipped to her belt. A master passkey card dangled there, swinging with the rhythm of her steps.
I did not think about the morality of it or her fear. I thought about the knife I needed from the kitchen armory and the freedom waiting in the hallway.
I lunged.
I wrapped my arm around her neck in a chokehold I had learned watching my father’s enforcers train in the courtyard years ago. She dropped the tray.
The crash was deafening. Silverware clattered against the hardwood, ceramic shattered, and gravy splattered across the Persian rug like blood.
The girl thrashed and clawed at my arm, making a high, gargling sound. She was stronger than she looked, fueled by panic. We stumbled backward and crashed into the heavy dresser.
"Quiet," I hissed in her ear, tightening my grip. "Stay down and you won't get hurt."
I shoved her away from me, sending her sprawling onto the bed. Before she could scream, I ripped the keycard from her belt.
I spun and sprinted for the door.
I burst into the hallway with my boots skidding on the polished floor. The corridor was empty and bathed in the soft, golden light of the sconces.
I ran toward the service elevator at the far end of the wing, the one used for laundry and luggage. My heart was a frantic drum solo against my ribs.
I reached the elevator and slapped the stolen card against the reader.
The light turned red.
Access Denied.
A curse ripped from my throat. Dante had locked out the staff credentials for this floor. He had anticipated this.
"Going somewhere?"
The voice came from behind me. It was low, gravelly, and dripping with a terrifying calm.