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Asturdytrellisweavesits criss-crossing wooden beams up the stone wall to the back of the estate. My feet find their first hold, the earthy material carrying my weight with a muffled groan, the ascending vines absorbing most of the sound.Thank goodness. I climb the steep, makeshift ladder to the third-floor terrace, jumping the distance between the edge of the lattice and the sturdy framework of the extensive home.
I land with quiet precision, having played out the same position entering a residence uninvited at least a few dozen times over the years.
The balcony gives little to hide my approach, a few chairs and a small table off to the side. If someone were to open the doors or look out the window, I would be laid bare for them to see. Being in the open sends my nerves on full alert, a mix of excitement and uneasiness rushing through me. I move toward the doors, giving one last look over the edge to the captain waiting in the cover of the neighboring fruit garden.
A pull on the handle and a shorttickconfirms what I hoped to be true. No one locks the balcony doors, the trusting nature of an elevated room. Carefully, I slip through, opening it just enough to slide inside. A quick survey shows that I’m alone, an unused bedroom sitting before me.
Blending into the monochrome shades of night is easy, compliments of Tess’s endless wardrobe. I move silently down the hallway of the home, encompassing Sir Crane’s personal chambers as Tess said.
I’ve walked through inhabited rooms before unnoticed, but knowing hardly anything about this man keeps me on edge. Is he a light sleeper? Does he go to bed early, or work well into the night? Is he adept with a weapon?
Normally, I would trail and analyze the person for days, even weeks, before entering their house. Even then, I would get a feel of the layout, walking the adjoining rooms and halls before actually looking for, or taking, anything. This time that luxury won’t be mine— the analysis and taking happening all in a matter of minutes.
Where would a wealthy fruit merchant hide random trinkets from a bunch of children? The idea that he would save such things after so many years is a little ridiculous and highly improbable, but I continue forward nonetheless.
I move from room to room, greeted by more unoccupied bedrooms. A set of stairs carries me to the second floor, finding much of the same. The rooms are well-kept— no dust, debris, or clutter of any kind. But also, no signs of life.
Is he gone? Maybe to a summer home? I know many of the wealthy keep multiple residences. But it would seem the warm weather and upkeep of such lands would keep him around during this time of year.
My heart skips a beat.Something isn’t right.
I move carefully, the emptiness of my surroundings ringing through my senses. As I get closer to the center of the building, faint voices come from a distance. I slow my movements, coming cautiously to the door that separates me from whomever the voices belong to.
“We have enough of the city on our side. We can move as early as next week,” someone says.
“The Santanas still have support. What about those who don’t wish to see them step down?” another asks.
“Are you questioning me, brother? The work we’ve done leading up to this moment? We are days away from bringing the last seven years into focus, of claiming what is ours.” More voices speak, too muffled, and I struggle to make sense of what they are saying.
Silence follows. I lean closer, my ear now flush against the door.
“With Lord Santana away, their foothold will falter. No one will fall behind his impetuous children when public opinion sways toward us. The final payment is on its way, the package safely in transit. By week’s end, the Guard will be in our purse. It will be the final straw, tipping the scales in our favor. Our task is done, gentlemen. It’s time for a new reign to enter our city. The dynasty of Crane.” A few muted cheers erupt at these words.
I’m frozen. Are they are conspiring to overthrow the Santanas? What package in transit? My mind is racing, trying to piece together the little information I overheard. My breath catches in my chest, an invisible weight making it hard to breathe. I’m caught in the web of a vicious scheme that has little, if anything, to do with me.
A loud crash bellows through the hallway, snapping my attention toward the noise. The room in front of me goes quiet, the sound of shuffling bodies coming straight toward where I now stand.
Mere seconds remain before the flurry of action reaches me, exposing my eavesdropping and my unwelcome presence. I only heard three talking, but who knows how many more are soundlessly present to this treason. Three against one is questionable if it comes to a fight. Not impossible, but enough to set my teeth on edge.
Another clatter sounds, softer this time, from the part of the house I’ve yet to explore. It spurs me into action, retracing my steps to an adjoining broom closet I cleared just minutes ago, only a few steps from where I stand exposed. Silently, I enter, just as the door with the voices bursts open and spills out its occupants.
A moment of dread fills the empty closet as multiple sets of footsteps charge through the hall.More than three.I duck down, pulling on my knife to make sure it’s in place for what’s to come.
“Check the rooms. Check the house. Seal it down.” A male voice reaches through the darkness.
More footsteps clamor by, but no one enters my space. I shift my feet around the cramped closet with barely enough room to stand against the wall next to my exit. When the sounds of running and shouting cease, I peer out the door, checking the dark hall. Rustling comes from the left wing of the home, but my immediate vicinity is clear.
The door inaudibly swings open with my gentle force as I move out of hiding. It takes a few breaths before I reach the end of the hall, stopping short of the stairway. More voices trickle down from the third floor, one of them distinctly female.
Each step upwards is nimble and swift. It’s not my first time investigating a skirmish that isn’t my own, but the first time I can’t see any benefit from it. I don’t work for the Santanas, hardly knowing them at all. Yet, I've been brought into the middle of their political misfortunes.
Questions threaten to overpower me, but I lock them away. There will be time for answers and confrontation with Tess and Liam. For now, I’m drawn to the voice that mentioned a package and a payment.
I can’t put my finger on it. But a feeling, an understanding that I have yet to uncover, keeps persuading me to go forward. To push against my survival instincts that want me to turn and run. There’s something to discover, something nagging in the back of my mind that refuses to make itself known.
A buzz starts low inside of me, spreading like water tipped from a glass until a low-level hum radiates from every part of me.Danger.
Yes, my profession is perilous by nature. But when a threat is imminent, when a fatal blow lies just around the corner, or behind the next door, or at the end of a hall—my entire body sings with vigilance, strength, and focus. I become the threat. This nobody from the streets of Turin, the prey that is reviled, becomes the hunter to be feared.
