“Please. I’m trying to help.”
Before he can reply, I hear footsteps in the hallway outside, and I hold my breath as the door opens again. The overhead light comes on—I get to my feet, heart leaping in hope—
“My apologies for disturbing you both,” says the old man. Wilson, Alessandro called him. He seemed like some kind of butler. Even in a robe, even under a pile of blankets, he exudes formality. “Don Castellani sent me down with some extra quilts.”
For a moment, I’m dumb enough to think he might open the cell. Open the cell, and I could push past him, run upstairs…hide…somewhere…
But just as I conclude that my escape plan needs some work, Wilson pulls open a small drawer to the side of the door to my cell, places one of the blankets into it, and slides it back through to me. “I have another here for you, sir,” he says to me, “but you’ll need to make space in the drawer.”
Still clutching Alessandro’s jacket around me, I take out the blanket, then wait as Wilson methodically pulls back the drawer, puts in a second blanket, and pushes it back through to me.
“Thank you.”
“Very welcome, sir.” He gives me a nod, and then heads back up to Julian’s cell. “And for you, Master Julian.”
“Has it been stuffed with rattlesnakes, Wilson?” He’s lying on his bunk, hands behind his head, one leg crossed up on his bended knee.
Wilson gives a chuckle. “You will have your little jokes, Master Julian. No, Don Castellani asked me to make sure you werebothcomfortable. Tonight.”
There was definitely a pause between those last two words. I just can’t figure out what it’s supposed to signify.
Julian tilts his head to stare at me, and a long, slow smile pulls his lips up. When Wilson leaves, I’m almost relived to have the darkness back to cover me from that smile.
I know exactly who Julianus Aurelius Castellani is, and what he’s done. He’s hot enough to have his own entry onCute Crims, and he has a lot of fans on the message boards. Unlike Alessandro, Julian doesn’t mind getting photographed when he’s out and about—and he’s out an awful lot. Like his father, the murdered Ciro, Julian likes Hollywood parties. He likes to socialize with the stars, and he’s gorgeous enough to pass as one of them.
But now that I’ve met him in person, I can tell there’s something…
Deeply wrong with him.
Maybe, when I get out of here, I’ll take him off the site. But…I might not be getting out of here.
To distract myself, I wriggle my arms into Alessandro’s jacket, then spread out the two extra blankets and try to make the bunk more comfortable. Just as I put my head down, Julian’s voice wafts over.
“Who exactly are you, Teddy MacCallum?”
Alarm kickstarts my pulse. “What?”
“Whoareyou? You’re certainly not rough trade, and you seem too perfectly innocent to be living on the streets. Too used to your creature comforts. So, who are you?”
I say nothing, pulling the blankets up over my ears.
“Well,” Julian says at last, “whoever you are, you seem to have some influence over my brother.”
“What?” I say again, pulling down the blankets.
“Yes, influence. You’re certainly his type, which is why I thought he’d bought you for the night. But he didn’t, did he?” He waits for my response, but I stay quiet.
Quiet and still like a mouse.
“Where did you two meet, and why does he have you locked up down here with me?”
I hear a creaking, and hold my breath as I try to figure out what Julian is doing. Even though he’s locked up, andI’mlocked up, I don’t trust him. Who knows what weapons Wilson might have smuggled in for him in that blanket?
“You asked me about finding my father’s body.” His voice sounds clearer, stronger. The sounds I heard—he was sitting up on the bed, turning to face me.
I push myself up on my elbows. “So it’s true? You found him?”
“You said that you wanted to help my brother. Help with what?”
