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She motions to me, and I step out from the shadows. “Archer was nice enough to escort me.”
Raphael’s beady eyes move from Finley to me, then back to Finley again. Her answer seems to satisfy him; I am, after all, on par with the family dog—obedient, quiet, doesn’t bite unless commanded—and who would ever guess Finley would be rolling around with a hound?
“I went to your room and I couldn’t find you,” he states. “Then I saw the passageway door was open.”
“You were in my room?” A note of concern edges into her voice. “Did you need something?”
“I thought we could celebrate. Properly.” He steps over and picks up the half-empty bottle of wine. “What are you drinking this swill for? Archer, go get us the good stuff. There’s a 1947 in the vault.”
I don’t move. I’ve been trained to sense danger before it comes—like electricity in the air before a thunderstorm. I don’t like it. The glimmer in his eyes.
“You mean Madam’s property,” I say.
He glares at me. “Did I stutter?”
Don’t punch a Rossi. Don’t punch a Rossi.
“No, sir.”
He flicks his wrist, shooing me away.
It’s only ten steps. I turn my back on them for just a minute. Finley has lost the playfulness in her eyes. Her posture is stick straight, and she’s afraid.
It makes me sick to leave her with him, even just for a second.
The vault is an old thing in the back. Rusted, creaky doors. I open up the door and immediately get hit with the scent of mothballs.
I quickly hunt for the bottle. The faster I find it, the faster I can return to them. These bottles aren’t stacked the same way the ones are up front—these are on display in tight, air-sealed cases. I glance over them quickly to find the right one, all the time straining to hear Finley and Raphael’s conversation.
Then I hear footsteps and the yawning moan of old wood. Immediately, I glance up.
The door to the vault has shut behind me. I go to it and yank the handle. Locked.
“Son of a bitch.”
10
FINLEY
Archer leaves into the vault. I watch as Raphael follows him, and the second Archer is inside, Raphael closes the door behind him and locks it.
My heart seizes in my chest. Archer is the one locked away, but I’m the one that feels trapped.
“What are you doing?” I ask Raphael as he approaches me again.
“I just wanted to speak with you alone for a minute.” He slips his hand up the side of my face. “Call me crazy—”
“You’re crazy.”
A smile ghosts his mouth. “Call me crazy, but…I got the impression you weren’t thrilled with marrying me.”
“I don’t know where you got that.”
His touch makes my skin cold and tight.
“It got me thinking,” he continues. “Why would you be excited? After all…you don’t really know what I’m capable of.”
“I know enough.”
