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The first set of heavily-tinted doors slides open, but this only allows us inside an empty antechamber of sorts, with what looks like a concierge counter adjacent to another set of doors made of bulletproof glass.
"Buongiorno, signore, signorina."
The man behind the counter looks like Abraham Lincoln...if our former president ever opted for a mohawk and a nose ring
"Regular or extra,SignorMarchetti?"
"Regular would do, Cassio."
I tug at Cesare's sleeve as the other man turns away. "Please tell me he's offering complimentary coffee?" The concierge comes back just as I finish speaking, and he immediately starts coughing as he places a small metal box on the counter.
Why is this guy laughing at me?
Is everyone here so loaded that they don't care for—-oh.
All I can do is gape as Cesare starts loading the box with two handguns, three pocket knives of varying lengths, and...do I even want to know why he needs a pair of handcuffs when he isn't a cop?
Cesare catches me gaping, and his dark eyes gleam. "Worried,tesoro?"
I scowl up at him. "If you ever use those cuffs on me—-"
"You're welcome to use them on me, too."
"Seriously?" Wait, what am I saying? "I mean, no. Not interested, sorry."
A smirk plays over his lips. "Are you sure about that?"
A loud buzzing sound saves me from lying - I mean, replying, and the last pair of doors slowly swing open.
Whoa.
I feel like Cesare and I have just entered Hell, with all-red lights glowing down on black-painted walls and stone floors of the exact same shade.
"What is this place?" I ask nervously.
"La Torre dei Mostri."
I bite back a sigh. Why did I even think this place would have an English name? I should have realized by now anythingfamigliawill likely come with an Italian name, and—-what in the world?
As soon as Cesare and I step inside an elevator, the first thing I notice is how the entire panel of buttons below the LED display is completelyblank.
Just seeing Cesare press a couple of them makes me feel like my life has suddenly turned into an action movie—-but whether I'm playing the role of the female lead or victim, I've yet to figure out.
My heart sinks when the elevator doors finally slide open, and there'sstillno Jollibee we can grab some ready-to-serve breakfast from. Instead, we have a guy who looks like a rockstar in a white coat, and he wastes no time in introducing himself as Dr. Rivera.
The older man takes us straight to a laboratory, and my stomach growls just as Cesare assists me to a seat.
Oops.
I look at Cesare and the doctor in sheepish apology. "I'm sorry—-"
"I'm the one who's sorry,tesoro," Cesare cuts me off with a grimace."But I promise you'll be able to eat anything and everything you want soon enough. Dr. Rivera will only need you to complete several tests, and it shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes."
I'm about to ask exactly what kind of tests we're talking about, but then I see Dr. Rivera with his swab kit, and I realize this is probably to establish my identity with a DNA match.
Dr. Rivera is able to get my swab samples in less than two minutes, but just when I'm about to stand up, Cesare's hands curve over my shoulders, and he gently presses me back down to my seat.
Huh?
