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As if in answer to my unspoken question, I hear a whimper. I frown and turn on my torch, angling the light towards the far end of the barrels where it sounded like it came from. My first thought is that it’s a dog but then I hear it again, louder. A groan. A gargle.
Momentarily forgetting about Gianni and the reason we’re here, I slowly venture further into the wine cellar. It briefly crosses my mind that this could be a trap, that I could have been set up in a similar way to my father, but the thought instantly evaporates as I reach the end of the row of barrels and see a shocking sight. A girl. Half-naked. Bound. Bleeding. Her long dark hair a tangled cobweb across her bruised, swollen face.
I recoil in surprise. Who is she and what the hell is she doing down here, tethered like an abused animal? I take in her torn red evening dress, the material now filthy with darker blots of blood and dirt, her long, delicate limbs criss-crossed with scratches, her petite, battered body curved into the fetal position. She can’t be more than eighteen. Gianni’s contact informed us there were only two women in Ricci’s residence tonight—his mistress and his housekeeper. This girl looks like neither. My father brought me up to show nothing but respect for women and it pains me greatly to see this woman being treated this way.
Despite her injuries she is easily the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on and, I hope for her sake she’s still innocent. She is still partially clothed although God only knows what she’s been subjected to by Ricci and his gorillas down here. I may live by a strict code of honor, instilled in me by the great Matteo Luciano, but I know some men, even Capos, choose a murkier morality.
I feel an overwhelming urge to help this unfortunate girl, and I find myself slowly stepping toward her moaning, crumpled form.
Suddenly she sees me, and the eye that isn’t swollen shut widens in fear. She starts shaking her head as though that alone will create a force field around her, preventing me from getting too close. Duct tape covers her mouth and her nostrils flare ferociously as I approach.
I prop the torch against a barrel and hold both hands out in front of me, making shushing sounds, trying to pacify and reassure her, before kneeling next to her.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I repeat as I reach towards her face to try to remove the crude gag. As my fingertips brush her cheek, she jerks her head back viciously to avoid my touch and cracks her skull against the flagstone floor. Her one open eye rolls back into her head and she lies still.
“No, no, bella!” I exclaim, shuffling around to support her head with my hands. I feel a warmth on my palm and bring my hand back, concerned to see blood. I don’t know whether this is a new wound or an old wound reopening, but I do know I need to get her out of here, now.
“Boss! Boss, where are you?” I whip my own head round at the sound of Gianni’s urgent call.
“Gianni, get down here!” I shout back in reply.
I hear his heavy footsteps and seconds later he is standing before me looking panicked. “What the fuck?” he asks as he surveys the scene.
“Help me get her out of here,” I demand.
“Boss, we need to leave. Now. Gustavo’s hit. Franco can’t hold Ricci much longer by himself, fat fuck. Ricci’s onto us.”
Gustavo’s hit? I curse and look down at the bleeding beauty, her chest barely rising with shallow breaths. I think through our now limited options.
“You go back and help Franco secure Ricci. Buy us a bit more time. Then come back down here for as many of the weapon crates as you can carry. I’ll have to get her out of here on my own.”
Gianni stares at me for a second and I know what he’s thinking. Who the fuck is this girl, why bother saving her? I stare back, trying to convey my steely desire—no, my need—to rescue her from this makeshift underground prison. She doesn’t belong in a place like this.
Ever the faithful colleague, Gianni nods. “Got it, boss,” he says. “I’ll be back.”
I thank God for the small mercy that the girl is now unconscious. Not only merciful for her as she is without fear, but merciful for me that she’s a lot easier to move. Growing up, I witnessed first-hand how wild a wronged or cornered woman can become.
Taking my knife from my pocket, I cut through the duct tape that’s tightly binding her wrists and ankles, as well as the ropes tethering her to the low wall pipes, and gather her up carefully. She’s a limp ragdoll in my arms as I maneuver her out of the enclosed wine cellar then climb the narrow stone steps towards the opening hatch. I hope that even through her unconscious state she senses that I’m carrying her to safety.
By the time I emerge, Gianni’s already there waiting for me, and I pass him my cargo. Precious cargo I wasn’t expecting to encounter tonight, and cargo I wasn’t expecting to feel so compelled to take home.
Three
CECELIA
“Miss DeMarco?” I start as I hear my name followed by a brisk knock on the door.
Carmina, Michael’s housekeeper, appears.
“Signor Luciano requested that I draw you a bath. It’s ready for you. Please use the intercom system if you need any assistance.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Signor Luciano also requests your presence in his study this evening. Nine o’clock.”
I nod and attempt a smile before she leaves. My heart is immediately hammering in anticipation. I turn back to the window and look down to the terrace and Michael is now out there alone, gazing out over the vast grounds. Like I’m pulling him by an invisible thread, he turns his head towards me, and his beautiful brown eyes raise upwards. We stare at each other. Nine o’clock can’t come soon enough.
I place my palm on the glass and smile through my fingers at him then, with some effort, I break our gaze and make my way to the bathroom. There are many bathrooms in this grand mansion, but I know exactly which one I’m going to.
