Chapter 31 The Compromise
"We hunt," Dante had said. "Floor by floor. Room by room."
But as he turned to bark orders at Antonio, organizing the men into search grids, I knew he was looking in the wrong places.
He was looking for a man hiding in closets or under beds. He was looking for an intruder who obeyed the laws of physics and architecture.
I knew better.
"I need to change," I said, my voice sounding hollow in my own ears.
Dante glanced at me. He was already checking the magazine of his weapon, his mind clearly cycling through tactical scenarios.
He looked at my clothes, now stained with soot from the nursery and wrinkled from sleeping on his sofa1111.
"Go," he said, gesturing toward the bathroom connected to the master suite. "Be quick. And lock the door behind you."
I walked into the bathroom and turned the heavy brass lock.
It was a massive space, marble and gold, smelling of cedar soap and masculine cologne. I stripped off the ruined dress and let it fall to the floor in a heap of crimson silk.
I turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face, scrubbing at the grime on my skin until it stung.
I gripped the edge of the sink and stared at myself in the mirror.
My eyes were wild. My skin was pale. I looked like a ghost.
He is in the house.
Dante’s words echoed in the tiled room.
Of course he was in the house. He had been in the house the whole time.
The burner phone under my bed2. The gas in the ventilation shaft3. The voice on the hardwired intercom4.
He wasn't hacking the doors. He wasn't picking the locks. He was bypassing them entirely.
My mind flashed back to the closet in the guest room. The panel I had found. The silver key shaped like a skull5.
The tunnels.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I knew exactly where the intruder was. He was in the crawlspaces.
He was moving through the arteries of the house, watching us through the vents, breathing the same air, separated only by a thin layer of plaster and wood.
I had the key. I had the knowledge.
If I told Dante, he could end this. He could send his men into the walls and drag the bastard out.
But if I tell him...
I opened my eyes and stared at my reflection.
If I told him, I would have to admit that I found the key weeks ago. I would have to admit that I explored the tunnels, that I spied on him in his office.
I would have to give up my only escape route.
The tunnels were my secret. They were my leverage.
They were the only advantage I had in a war against a man who held all the cards. If I gave them up, I was truly his prisoner. I would be disarmed. Helpless.
Let him look, a dark voice whispered in my head. Let him tear the house apart and find nothing. Let him fail.
It would be poetic justice. The great Dante Caravelli, brought low by his own architecture.
I grabbed a fresh shirt from the stack of clean laundry Dante kept on the shelf—one of his white button-downs.
I pulled it on, buttoning it with shaking fingers. It smelled like him. It engulfed me.
I could keep the secret. I could wait. I could let the intruder torment him a little longer.
Then I remembered the smoke.
I remembered the smell of burning plastic in the nursery7. I remembered the weight of Jasmine’s limp body in Dante’s arms8.
“The little girl... she sleeps very soundly,” the voice had said9.
The intruder didn't care about my war with Dante. He didn't care about leverage or revenge. He was willing to harm a five-year-old girl just to make a point.
If I stayed silent, the intruder would stay in the walls. He would wait. And next time, he wouldn't use sleeping gas.
Next time, he might use fire. Or a knife.
Jasmine was in the Vault10. Dante said it was safe. He said nothing could get in.
But Dante didn't know the house was hollow.
If there was a vent in the Vault... if there was a maintenance hatch...
My stomach twisted.
I hated Dante Caravelli. I hated him for the ring on his finger11. I hated him for the power he held over me.
But I loved the girl who hugged me in the garden12.
I rolled up the sleeves of the oversized shirt. I looked at the red dress on the floor, a pile of blood-colored silk.
I couldn't be the reason she died. I couldn't be like my father, trading a life for my own safety.
Maybe, just maybe I could find a way to tell him about the tunnels without shooting myself in the leg.
I unlocked the bathroom door.
Dante was standing by the window in the bedroom, checking the load of his gun. He looked up when I entered.
His face was hard and focused, wearing a mask of cold efficiency.
"We are moving out," he said. "Stay behind me."
He turned toward the hallway door.
"Dante," I said.
My voice was quiet, but it stopped him. He paused, his hand on the latch, and looked back over his shoulder.
"We don't have time, Lilith."
"You're looking in the wrong place," I said.
He turned fully to face me, his brow furrowing. "What?"
"You're looking for him in the rooms," I said, taking a step forward. My heart was hammering against my ribs. "
You're checking the hallways and the guest suites. You think he's hiding behind the furniture."
"He is inside the perimeter," Dante said impatiently. "He has to be in a room."
"No," I said. "He doesn't."
I took a deep breath. It felt like inhaling glass. I was about to hand him the weapon I had forged to destroy him. I was about to surrender.
"I know how he's moving, Dante."
He went very still. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. He looked at me with a sudden, terrifying intensity.
"What do you mean?"
"I know how he got into the nursery without opening the door," I whispered. "I know how he put the phone under my bed. I know why your men can't find him."
I walked until I was standing right in front of him. I looked up into his grey eyes, the eyes of the man I had sworn to kill.
"You're not going to find him in the hallways," I said.
"Where is he?"
"He's in the walls."