All I can do is stand there, frozen in shame, as Frankie gets up and carries Liliana back into the house.
27
CANDI
We’ve only just arrived backat the Bellanti estate when Armani veers off the driveway and onto the wide path that meanders around the rest of the property. I’m confused at first, but it’s not until we crest a hill and I get a full view of what’s in front of us that I start to panic.
A windowless stone building nestles into the side of a hill, surrounded by a black iron security gate. Dense trees crowd the area on three sides, shielding it from view. The structure is practically invisible, unless you know it’s there.
The Deep Cellar.
My stomach drops.
I turn to Armani. “Where are we going?”
He slides me an uncaring glance. “Something the matter?”
As far as Armani knows, I’ve never seen what’s in the Deep Cellar—because he told me to stay away from the place. Begging him not to take me there is as good as admitting I snuck in.
“I—I’m tired, is all. I’d like to go lie down, get some rest,” I babble.
“You can, as soon as we’re done. I have something to show you first.”
All of my instincts are screaming at me to jump out of the car and run. There’s nothing down there but pain and suffering, instruments of torture, the stench of blood and fear. Whatever he wants to show me, I don’t want to see it.
But where would I run to? How many steps would I make it before security guards were on me, dragging me right back to Armani?
“Can it wait until later?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
“No. This has waited long enough.”
Dread and adrenaline course through me as he parks outside the security gate and punches in a code. Seconds later, the gate slides open and we drive through. Fuck.
After we park beside the building, Armani takes my arm and escorts me to the thick wood door. When he pushes it open, a draft of refrigerated air touches my skin.
“Armani, please, I don’t want to,” I say, my voice going shrill. “Please. Let me go!”
Ignoring me, he shoves me over the threshold and follows me into the front room. I see the same leather couches and shelves of wine, the door that leads down to the lower levels. My knees go weak. The look in his eyes tells me there’s no way I’m getting out of this.
“This is what you signed up for when you agreed to work for the mob,” he says. “You wanted in on the action, didn’t you? Or did you never once stop to think about the blood, the violence, and everything else that comes with it? This is what it means to be a mobster.”
“It was never my intention to be a mobster!”
“The second you made a deal with the Mafia, that’s exactly what you became. Now it’s time for me to show you what I do.”
With that, he grabs me again and shoves me through the door and down the first flight of stairs. As I make my way shakily to the bottom, I can’t stop the panicked questions racing in my mind. Am I about to be tortured? Or is someone else?
We walk down the long hallway of wine storage rooms, then go through the door to the second set of stairs that will lead us even deeper underground, to the true Deep Cellar. With each step down, my sense of dread rises, until I’m sick with it. But with Armani right behind me, there’s no way out. When we reach the arched wood dungeon door at the bottom, he turns to me.
“No matter what happens, don’t throw up,” he warns.
No, no, no.
I stumble back and try to bolt up the stairs, making it about three steps before Armani throws an arm around my waist and drags me back down. Breathing hard, I struggle in his grip, but he spins me around and holds me fast.
“You’re not getting out of this,” he growls.
He hauls me back to the thick wood door and raps loudly on it with a fist. It cracks open and then Clayton swings it wide. His face contorts when he sees me next to Armani.
