Chapter 20 The Display
The closet door creaked as it swung open.
Light from the bedroom spilled through the cracks in the panel, cutting across my face in thin, dusty lines.
I gripped my knife in the dark, knowing that if he opened the panel, I would have to strike. I would have to kill him or he would kill me.
"Where are you hiding?" Dante whispered.
He was talking to the room, not the wall. He did not know I was in the tunnel; he thought I was hiding in the bathroom or on the balcony.
He pulled the closet door fully open, and I saw his shadow fall across the panel.
He pushed the silk robes aside, his hand brushing against the wood just inches from my face.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, and I begged silently for him not to look down or see the seam.
He stood there for a long moment, and I could smell his cologne, a mix of cedar and whiskey that filled the small space.
Then he sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound that vibrated through the wood.
He let the robes fall back into place and closed the closet door.
I heard him walk away, checking the bathroom before the main door beeped and clicked shut. He was gone.
I waited five minutes to be sure before I opened the panel and tumbled out onto the closet floor, covered in sweat and grey dust.
I had survived, but now I knew I was running out of time.
Later that evening, Rosa brought a red dress to my room.
"The Don requires your presence at dinner," she said, her voice stiff with disapproval.
Why would Dante want me to come down for dinner? That was strange.
And the dress?
Regardless, I put it on, and it felt like a shroud.
The silk was cool and slippery against my skin, while the back was open and the neckline plunged deep.
It was a costume designed to make me feel naked and vulnerable, a prop for Dante’s show of power.
At dinnertime, a guard marched me downstairs to the dining room where the table was set for twelve.
Crystal glasses shone under the chandeliers, and the air smelled of roasted meat and cigar smoke.
Dante sat at the head of the table. He stopped talking when I walked in, his eyes starting at my shoes and traveling slowly up my legs to linger on my waist before meeting my eyes.
His gaze was not just heavy; it was knowing.
"Sit," he said, pointing to the chair at his right hand.
I sat down, my skin prickling as every man in the room stared at me.
Antonio smiled, but his eyes were watchful, while Giovanni watched me like I was a bomb waiting to detonate.
Dante put his hand on the back of my chair, his fingers brushing against my bare skin. I stiffened at the contact.
"You look flushed, Lilith," he said softly. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes," I lied.
"Strange. I came to check on you this morning and you were very quiet."
My blood ran cold because he knew. He suspected something was wrong. His thumb stroked the back of my neck in a rhythmic, possessive motion that was terrifying.
Dinner was served, and I watched the men, trying to focus on finding the traitor.
A server came to clear my plate, a young man with dark hair and nervous eyes whose hands shook as he reached for my dish.
I looked at his sleeve and saw a smudge on the white cuff of his uniform. It was grey, powdery drywall dust.
It was the same dust that covered the floor of the tunnels and was currently staining the knees of my black trousers upstairs.
Was it him? The spy.
I felt a spike of triumph, but it was quickly drowned by fear as Dante’s hand tightened on my neck. He stood up, and the room went silent.
"Gentlemen," Dante said. "There is a rumor that there is a leak in this house. That someone is selling my secrets."
He looked around the table, his gaze lingering on the nervous server before looking down at me.
"I know someone is in my walls," he said. "I found footprints in the dust."
He leaned down until his lips brushed my ear.
"And tonight," he whispered so only I could hear, "I am going to burn the house down to find them."
He straightened up and pulled a gun from his jacket, setting it on the table with a heavy thud.
"Lock the doors," he ordered the guards.
Panic squeezed my lungs as the dining room doors locked.
Does he think I'm the spy? Is that why he called me down here?
Dante stood at the head of the table with his hand resting on the gun, while the Capos shifted in their seats and eyed the exits nervously.
"No one leaves," Dante said, "not until I have a name."
He looked at the nervous server, the one with the dust on his sleeve.
"You," Dante said. "Come here."
The boy froze, dropping the pitcher of water he was holding. It shattered against the floor.
"I didn't do anything!" the boy cried.
"Come here."
The boy ran, bolting for the service door in blind panic.
"Get him!" Giovanni shouted.
The room erupted into chaos as guards tackled the boy, overturning chairs and shouting orders. In the confusion, I moved.
I grabbed the steak knife from the table, hiking up my red dress to slide the blade into the garter belt on my thigh.
Dante was distracted, watching the guards drag the screaming boy out of the room.
"Take him to the cellar," Dante ordered. "I will deal with him later."
He turned back to the table, and his eyes found me.
"The entertainment is over," he said. "Escort Miss Rosetti to her room."
Two guards grabbed my arms and marched me out of the dining room.