He doesn’t answer, just turns and starts walking. I don’t have a choice but to follow, walking down the hallway with a sinking feeling in my gut.
As we move through the estate, he gazes over his shoulder.
“You eat this morning?”
I roll my eyes. “Your chef practically shoved eggs and toast down my throat like I was a damn hostage. That your idea of hospitality?”
He chuckles, low and dark. “Are you a guest, Cross?”
“I’m not sure what the fuck I am.”
He doesn’t answer that, just keeps walking.
We take another turn, this one sharper and darker, toward a wing I hardly recognize. The air shifts, colder still. Like the place knows to shut the fuck up when Nico Vitale walks through it.
And then I realize where we’re heading.
Down.
Of course.
The basement.
“Follow me,” he says in a low voice.
I hesitate at the top of the narrow stairwell. The concrete glistens with condensation. Metal rail. Steel door at the bottom.
“I swear to God,” I mutter, “if youtryto chain me up down there—”
He doesn’t look back. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
There’s a guard at the stairs. Two, actually. One on either side, making sure I don’t run. Or maybe making sure Iseewhat I’m about to see.
I sigh and follow him. Not like I’ve got other options.
Every step down creaks, and each one sounds louder than the last.
At the landing, Nico pauses.
“Close your eyes.”
“What?”
He finally turns, smirking faintly.
“Trust me.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
His smile sharpens. “Fine. Don’t trust me. But do it anyway.”
Goddamn son of a bitch.
I exhale hard and close them. I hear the creak of metal. Another door. Then his hand, warm and rough, wraps around my arm, guiding me forward.
“Try anything and I bite your dick off,” I mutter under my breath.
He laughs, but doesn’t respond.
