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We reach a door carved into the earth, sitting just inside the thick wall separating us from the rest of the world. There’s an iron gate here, half-hidden by overgrown shrubs. You’d have to know what you’re looking for to notice it, just like you’d have to know the door exists to find it covered in dead branches and weeds.
“What’s the temperature like in the house?” I ask as I crouch, searching for the handle while my cousin keeps a lookout.
He grunts, almost like he’s in pain. “Pretty hot. Your old man tried to renegotiate territory, thinking that might get Vitali to cool down a little.”
“Renegotiate?” It’s a dirty word around here. “You mean give up territory?”
“Vitali wants control of the container terminals in Bayonne and Red Hook.”
The idea makes me laugh. “Fuck that. The bastard never did know when to leave well enough alone.”
“Which is what your father told him in not so many words. He offered to give up the trade in Harlem instead.”
“What the fuck? He wants to give up Harlem?” It’s the last territory aside from Manhattan, where our family controls the drug trade. Over the years, Vitali and his crew have inched their way closer to it, waiting for their moment.
“He would if it comes to that,” he states firmly. “Vitali wasn’t happy about it, said he’d have an answer for him tomorrow.”
I don’t like it, but one thing at a time. I have to get to Emilia. Papa will be pissed that things didn’t go well with Vitali, and he might decide to take it out on her. When my fingers wedge beneath the hinged handle, I pull with all my strength. It’s been years since any of us have used the door, and the squeaking hinges make us both freeze, cringing.
“You better go, fast,” Niccolo mutters once it looks like nobody currently patrolling the grounds heard the noise. “I’ll go sit in front of your place.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Just make sure your ass doesn’t get caught in there.” I begin to lower myself down the ladder while he closes the door, leaving me in pitch blackness until I locate the light switch.
The row of incandescent bulbs running the length of the tunnel’s ceiling flicker to life. A few of the bulbs are burned out, but enough are still working to light my way. I waste no time running the tunnel’s length, coming to a set of stairs carved into the house’s foundation. The door at the top opens onto the pantry, which I guess is where they used to store all the crates of alcohol back in the day.
Quietly, I make my way past shelves full of dry goods and open the door to what used to be the servants’ stairs. They take me to the second floor, which seems to be quiet when I ease the door open and look down the long hall. The eastern wing is where the guestrooms are located, and I know that’s where Emilia is.
Separate from the rest of the family but still on camera.
I know the layout of these rooms thanks to a lack of imagination on the part of the architect. Thankfully, there’s a way to get her out without alerting anybody.
Figuring out which room is hers is no great challenge. All it takes is finding the door whose knob doesn’t turn when I try it, leaving the single locked door belonging to her.
It’s been a long time since I’ve used my lock-picking kit, but some things you don’t forget. Once I’ve disengaged the lock, I open the door crack. “Emilia? Don’t react.”
Shifting on the bed tells me she knows I’m here. “Get up and make it look like you’re going to the bathroom.” I look up and down the hall, watching and listening. “You’ll be out of range of the camera by the time you reach the door. Take your time. Don’t do anything hasty.”
Her feet shuffle along the floor before she pulls the door open wide enough to slip through. Her face lights up when she finds me waiting. “Luca?” she whispers before throwing herself at me.
And now that she’s here, in my arms, I can breathe again. I’m home. I know everything will work out because I am holding her, and she’s trembling against me, but she’s holding me too, holding on tight like her life depends on it. My mouth finds hers, and I claim it, crushing her lips against mine.
She’s real.
She’s here.
I’m never letting her go.
“You’re all right,” she whispers shakily once I let her up for air, leaning back to take my face in her hands, staring at me like she’s afraid it’s a dream.
I know the feeling because I need to touch her face and hair, anything I can get my hands on to prove to myself she’s real. “I’ve been so worried. I’m going crazy without you,” I admit.
Nothing about what I said seems to shock her. All it does is make her rest her forehead against mine and release a shuddering sigh. “Me too. What are we going to do?” We. Her choice of words leaves me sighing in relief.
We’re in this together.
One answer springs to mind, and I waste no time, pulling her along with me to the next room down the hall, a generic guest room that probably hasn’t been used in ages. No sooner do I have the door closed, she’s in my arms again so I can lift her off her feet and carry her to the bed, stumbling a little in the darkness.
