My mouth snaps shut. “Um, yes. Yes, it will. Thank you.”
He cocks his head and levels me with an unamused stare. “Everything you could possibly want or need is at your fingertips here, so…remind me again why you need a cat?”
Oh my God, here we go again.
“Considering the fact that I own a handful dresses and like three pair of pants, it looks to me like Mr. Sprinkles will have plenty of space to hang out in here,” I say. “In fact, I think I can fit a cat tree by this window—so he can watch the birds. What do you think?”
Armani mumbles to himself as he walks out of the closet.
“I’ll pay for it to stay at a kennel during the week,” he says as I trail him back into the bedroom. “You can have him on the weekends.”
I narrow my eyes as I scoop Mr. Sprinkles into my arms again. “Nope.”
“That assistant chef can watch him—she’s obviously a cat person, too. Or why don’t we clean out one of the guest rooms for him? You can visit whenever you want.”
Now he’s just being ridiculous.
“Sorry, Armani. Mr. Sprinkles sleeps with me.”
He stalks toward me and glares down at the cat. “It does not sleep withme.”
Mr. Sprinkles wiggles in my arms as if offended. I hold him a little tighter, petting him to calm him down.
“Well, that won’t be a problem. I’m getting my own bedroom, right?” I say.
Armani scoffs, “Hell no—”
Just then, Mr. Sprinkles leaps out of my arms, straight at Armani. He catches the cat on instinct, but Mr. Sprinkles wastes no time clawing his way up into the crook of Armani’s neck and settling in, purring like a little engine. His thick, fluffy tail swishes across Armani’s face. Sputtering, Armani pushes the tail away and gives me a confounded look.
“Jesus, do something!” he yelps.
I’m trying so hard not to laugh. But it’s bubbling up, and I can barely contain it now. “But…he likes you,” I point out.
“Che palle!” he cusses.
Armani mumbles a further string of Italian that I can only assume is creative curse words, considering his tone. He finally manages to get the cat detached from his neck and thrusts him back at me, then looks down in disdain at the white hair covering his black button-down.
“Let me get you a fresh shirt,” I say, dashing into the closet with Mr. Sprinkles.
But as I pass the window on my way to Armani’s hanging shirts, I notice something strange at the edge of the Bellanti property—a gated-off, stone structure with no windows that looks like it’s built into the side of a hill. It’s set back behind the trees, so if I wasn’t on the second floor of the house, I’d probably never even know it exists.
“What’s that stone building? The one behind the iron fence?” I ask as I go back into the bedroom with a clean shirt for Armani. “Is it like an old bomb shelter or something?”
Armani stiffens as he takes the shirt from me. His expression grows hard. A small blip of warning goes through me, as if I’ve suddenly activated a part of him that I didn’t mean to.
“That’s the Deep Cellar. Don’t ever go down there.”
“Oh. So it’s like a wine cellar, or—?”
Firmly taking my arm, he stares hard into my eyes. “Heed my words. It’s off-limits. There’s plenty of other stuff around here to keep you entertained. And if that’s not enough, I’ll keep you busy in the bedroom.”
He’s trying to lighten the mood by teasing with me, but it’s too late. I caught his drift. The cellar is forbidden, so of course I need to know what’s down there. It’s my job to find out.
But not yet. Something like that needs to be worked into.
Oh, Armani. What are you Bellantis hiding?
And what will happen when I find out?
