Chapter 19 The Voyeur
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE VOYEUR
I waited until the house settled into a heavy, rhythmic silence before I dared to move.
Hours had passed since Dante left, and I sat on the edge of the bed with my hands folded in my lap, counting the seconds by the thud of my own pulse.
I had to be absolutely sure he was gone because if he was standing just outside the door waiting for the click of the lock, my life was over.
When the silence stretched too long to be a trick, I finally stood up.
Walking to the door, I retrieved the brass key I had pulled in with the fork earlier. The metal felt warm in my hand as I moved to the closet and unlocked the heavy wardrobe door.
The smell of cedar and stale air drifted out to meet me, dusty and dry against the back of my throat.
I pushed the silk robes aside and reached up to the top of the doorframe where my fingers brushed against cold metal.
The silver skull key was exactly where I had hidden it.
Dropping to my knees, I inserted the key into the panel. The mechanism clicked softly, and the wall slid open to reveal the dark throat of the tunnel.
I crawled inside, pulling the panel shut behind me until it locked, allowing the darkness to swallow me whole.
I turned on my phone flashlight but kept the beam low, cupping my hand around the light to shield it from any cracks in the woodwork.
I did not go left toward the pantry this time because I needed to know my enemy. I needed to see what Dante did when he thought no one was watching.
The tunnel was narrow, and the rough wood dug into my knees as I crawled.
The air was cold, smelling of dust and old secrets, and I moved for fifty feet until I saw a faint yellow light ahead. It was the vent that looked into Dante’s office.
I stopped and turned off my light, creeping forward in the dark until my face was pressed against the metal slats of the grate.
The office was dim, lit only by a single lamp burning on the desk. Dante was there, but he was not working.
He sat in his leather chair with his back to the window, holding a glass of whiskey in a loose grip. He looked terrible. His hair was messy and his shirt was open at the collar, making him look like a man who was slowly unraveling.
He was staring at a silver locket in his hand.
I watched him open it and saw his face change as the hard mask of the Don melted away to reveal raw, bleeding pain.
He looked at the picture inside with such intense grief that I almost looked away, feeling like an intruder on a private funeral.
It had to be Isabella, his wife.
Watching him, I expected to feel pity or sorrow for the grieving widower, but I felt nothing but cold satisfaction.
He was hurting, which meant he was weak. He took a long drink of whiskey, closed the locket, and gripped it tight in his fist until his knuckles turned white.
This was useful because a man who was unstable was a man who made mistakes.
I backed away from the vent, having seen enough to know he was distracted. Turning around, I crawled back past the entrance to my room and kept going left towardthat seemed like the pantry.
I needed to find anything that can give me clues. Maybe I could acces the entire house through the tunnels.
The tunnel sloped down and the air got warmer as I reached the pantry vent. Peering through the slats, I saw the pantry was dark and empty.
As I reached out to search past it, my hands bumped intgo something. I let out a silent scream snapping my hand back immediately.
But after a second of nothing, i reached out again, curiously. It was… phone? A burner phone, I realised as I brought it closer.
I pulled it out and checked the screen to find a message.
Is the girl ready yet? We need to commence on Friday.
I stared at the glowing text, this must belong to the traitor. But friday is only two days away.
Whoever they are, and whatever they're planning, I need to find out.
I took a picture of the message with my own phone before putting the burner back in the hole.
I could not steal it yet because if the traitor noticed it was gone, they would stop using it.
I started to crawl back toward my room, but then I froze.
A sound echoed from the wall behind me. It did not come from the tunnel, but from inside my bedroom.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It was the electronic lock on my bedroom door. Someone was entering my room.
Scrambling forward, I reached the back of the closet panel and pressed my ear against the wood. I heard heavy footsteps on the rug followed by the rustle of fabric.
"Lilith?"
It was Dante.
He was in my room, and I was trapped in the wall behind the closet. If I opened the panel, he would see me, but if I stayed here, he might hear me breathing.
I heard him walk closer until his footsteps stopped right in front of the closet door. I held my breath until my chest burned, praying he would not notice the seam.
The handle of the closet door turned.