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Once we reached the bottom, I grabbed Alex’s shoulders and steered her toward my father’s favorite place in Devil’s Creek—his precious wine cellar. My dad loved his wine, which had a dedicated room that was bulletproof, theft-proof, and temperature-controlled. I stopped in front of a wall of glass and pressed my palm to the hand scanner.
Once the device accepted my handprint, the glass door slid to the right. Stone walls with oak accents gave the space a rustic vibe. Wine racks built into the walls reached up to the ceiling on three sides. A high-top wooden table sat in the center of the room with a dozen chairs surrounding it. Empty decanters and glasses were on top of the table, turned over.
“I feel like I’m in a Bond movie,” Alex said in disbelief.
I smacked her ass. “You’d make a good Bond girl.”
She squealed as she entered the room. “As long as I don’t get a name like Pussy Galore, I’d be down with playing sidekick to a hot secret agent.”
I grabbed two bottles of the Dom Perignon Brut Rose and handed them to Damian. After the door sealed behind us, we walked toward another hidden door at the back of the house. An entrance we used to conduct some of our illegal business transactions.
“This place freaks me out,” Alex whispered. “It’s so fucking creepy.”
“Don’t worry.” I hooked my arm around her, pressing her back into my chest. “I’ll keep you safe, Pussy Galore.”
She tilted her head back and chuckled. “If I were a Bond Girl, I’d go with Betty Boner.”
“Speaking of boners,” I whispered in her ear, rubbing her ass on my semi-hard cock.
Bastian flipped the bolts on the steel door, and Damian helped him slide the door to the left. The saltiness of the sea rolled through the cramped space. Alex gave me a worried look, then bent down, inching her way through the narrow channel.
My brothers went before me so I could lock the door behind us. Only the other four founding families of Devil’s Creek knew about this entrance to our house. The catacombs linked my estate to Wellington Manor, Fort Marshall, the Cormac Compound, and the Battle Fortress. We only used the catacombs to reach each other’s homes in emergencies.
The tunnel dumped us on the beach at the dead center of my property. Some nights, I stood out here to gain some clarity. Other nights, I washed the blood of my enemies into the bay.
Wind whipped through Alex’s hair and blew it in her face. She groaned as she pulled the curls out of her mouth and shoved them behind her ears. Marcello shook out a blanket for her to sit on the sand. She plopped down between my brothers and patted the spot in front of her. My gaze flicked between Alex and the water.
“You look less serious when you’re not wearing a suit,” Alex commented. “But still ridiculously handsome. Get down here so we can get this party started.”
“I’m not a man who takes orders.”
She rolled her eyes and tapped the blanket with her palm. “Tonight, you do.”
Because she had me under her fucking spell, I dropped to one knee in front of her. Damian passed a bottle of champagne to Marcello. They popped the corks, and Alex squealed at the popping sounds, still traumatized from the shooting.
We passed the bottles around, and then I remembered Alex couldn’t drink. So I downed half of it in one gulp and moved her between my legs. She leaned back, her head rested on my chest.
“This is nice.” Alex peeked up at me. “I’m not used to this side of you.”
“You said it best with your paintings.” I drank from the bottle and made a spot for it in the sand. “The Devil has many faces.”
“I like this side to all of you.” She smiled. “I’m getting ideas for more Devil-themed paintings.”
“You can’t deny how you feel about me. It’s clear in your paintings.”
“I called the first one The Devil I Hate.” She rubbed her glossy lips together as she looked up at me. “That was the truth back then.”
“And now?”
She shook her head. “I don’t hate you.”
“How about me?” Damian inched his hand up her thigh. “Do you still fear me?”
“No. But art tells the truth…”
“Even when people lie,” Marcello finished for her, a direct quote from my mother and one of her most popular paintings.
“I’d like to start my work at the Franco Foundation. I had a meeting scheduled with Madeline Laveau… and then Marcello got shot.”
