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One narrow section of racked wine popped open soundlessly.
Bella swung a glance over her shoulder at him. “My father had this panic room installed during the wars after First Dawn twenty years ago.”
She started to duck inside. Savage caught her by the arm. “Stay close to me, Bella. If anything happens to you, I couldn’t…”
He let the thought trail, but his touch lingered longer than necessary. She gave him a curious look, then nodded.
They stepped inside the unlit, cavernous room. Large oak barrels, shelves of paper supplies, and chunky, hand-hewn wooden tables made the secret chamber appear to be nothing more remarkable than a workroom for the vineyard.
Bella reached to turn on a light switch just inside. “Chiara?” she called softly. “Are you in here? It’s me, Arabella.”
A small whimper sounded from somewhere behind the barrels. Then a petite, pretty brunette emerged from the shadows, her dark-haired toddler son held protectively in her arms. “Bella!”
The two women raced to each other, embracing amid Chiara’s tears and Bella’s quiet assurances that she and Pietro were okay now. That they were safe.
Savage stood back from the emotional reunion, all too conscious of the fact that every minute they delayed here was one more minute they risked being discovered. They were fortunate that only two of Massioni’s henchmen had been dispatched to the vineyard. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be more sent to sniff around and make sure the job was finished.
The dead Breed males in the yard would be ashed by the morning sun, but whoever sent them would be waiting for them to return or report in.
And now that he was thinking about daylight…
It was late, and all too soon it would be dawn. They were too far afield to make the drive back to the command center before the sun rose and ashed him, too, which meant he needed to find them somewhere secure to settle in for the night.
Grabbing his phone, Savage called the scrambled line at the Order in Rome to apprise them of the situation. He’d already ignored more than one call from base demanding the status of the mission. He’d have hell to pay when he got back, no doubt. Probably right now too.
Trygg’s dark growl greeted him on the other end. “Having a good time out there?”
Savage grunted. “There’s been a slight change of plans.”
“No shit? Was that before or after you jeopardized the entire mission in order to chase after some former tail?”
Okay, so maybe he deserved that. He definitely deserved it. But Trygg didn’t understand, and Savage didn’t have time to explain it right now. “Her name’s Arabella Genova. I had to go back in for her and get her out of there. You’re going to have to trust me on that.”
“Not my trust you need to worry about,” Trygg said. “Commander Archer’s on a call with Lucan Thorne in D.C. as we speak. They weren’t happy to hear you went AWOL in the middle of an op.”
“Yeah, well, I got the job done.”
“You sure about that? You verified Massioni blew up with his villa, right?” When Savage let the question hang a second too long, Trygg hissed a low curse. “You didn’t verify. Jesus, Savage. I hope to fuck she’s worth it, man.”
He glanced over at Bella. Yeah, she was worth it. Her life—the relief and happiness he saw in her face right now—was worth everything.
“If I fucked up with Massioni, I’ll handle it. Right now, I need to find a safe house for the day. I’ve got two Breedmates and a three-year-old Breed male with me here in Potenza right now. I need to make sure they’re somewhere secure.”
“Two females and a kid? I’m not gonna ask,” Trygg muttered. He went silent for a moment, then heaved a surly sigh. “How far are you from Matera?”
Savage knew the town, had prowled the ancient streets and subterranean caverns of the old settlement more than a few times in his youth. “It’s not far. An hour, give or take.”
“Get there. I know somewhere you can go.” Trygg gave him quick instructions, landmarks to guide him to where he needed to go once he arrived. From the sound of it, his comrade wasn’t sending him into the touristy heart of the historic town, but down into the Paleolithic sassi—the neighborhood of ancient limestone caves that clung to the steep walls of Matera’s central ravine. “Take the old stone steps behind the church. Follow the path on the left. Someone will be waiting to meet you and take you to a safe shelter.”
“Who am I looking for?”
“A Breed male with long black hair and obsidian eyes. His name is Scythe.”
“Scythe? Sounds like a real hospitable guy.”
“You didn’t ask for hospitable. You asked for someplace secure, and that’s where I’m sending you.”
“Point taken,” Savage drawled, reminded that Trygg was nothing if not literal. The deadly, unsociable male dealt in absolutes, whether it came to combat or conversation. “What I’m saying is, you’re sure about this male, this Scythe?”
