I stiffen all over when I hear that voice. Maybe if I keep my eyes shut—
“Don’t play possum, little mouse. You’re awake. Open your eyes.”
I crack them and find myself looking straight at Alessandro Castellani, the dark eyes unreadable. He’s sitting on the edge of a bed. The bed that I am currently propped up in, sinking into soft pillows, half-upright. I take another deep breath and look beyond him. “Where…”
“My guest bedroom.” He sneers when my eyes fly back to him. “Don’t worry, I didn’t take advantage. I’m an honorable man, whateveryoumight think of me.”
That’s not what I was thinking at all. What I’m thinking is… “How did I end up here?”
He sits back a little. “I brought you up here.”
I remember the strong arms around me, the way I clutched at my savior as the panic took over. And most of all, that comforting scent, the same one that surrounds me now. But there’s one question I have.
“Why?”
He looks away when I ask, standing up and reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand. “Here.” He hands it to me. “You were right about something,topolino. My father does—did—have a lover.”
I splutter on the water and have to slow down so I don’t choke. Alessandro watches me the whole time, but I keep my eyes moving around the room. The bed is against one wall, a huge thing with an ornate headboard as I glance behind me. There are numerous floor-to-ceiling windows, hung on either side with rich velvet drapes. A fireplace opposite, with a carved mantelpiece that matches the headboard, and achaise longuein one corner, covered in bags of clothes—designer brands, each and every one.
“Would you like to share your opinion of the décor?” Alessandro asks, when I finally look at him again.
I shake my head slowly. He reaches over to take the empty glass from me and sets it back on the nightstand. “Are you feeling better?”
He’s actually worried about me? I nod, and he smiles. I smile back.
“Excellent,” he says. “Then let’s get on with business.”
Of course. He’s not really worried about me, just what I can provide. But that’s okay, I tell myself. That gives me bargaining power. If the story about the lover turned out to be true, other things might be true, too.
“How can I help?”
“You tell me. What other information do you—or these people on the website—have?”
The thing is, most of the stuff that ends up on the forumsisjust wild speculation, like Alessandro himself pointed out. But maybe that’s where I can start. “I could post on the forums,” I say, shifting myself to sit up better in the bed. “I could start a few new threads, put out some feelers, see what people come up with.”
“I don’t want conspiracy theories. I wantinformation.”
I swallow. “Then…I could DM some people who usually have reliable tips. Push them to see if they really know anything.”
He considers that. “Very well. But I will watch what you send them. Do not try to alert anyone to where you are.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” I choose to ignore the slight roll of the eyes he gives. “And I’ll do what I said, and prod some of those guys online. But you’ll need to give me some extra information to do it well.”
“Such as?”
“The name of your father’s lover, for one thing. And if you have any other suspicions—”
“I will not be sharing them with you.”
I shrug. “Fine. But I’ll need the lover’s name, at least.”
He stares at me for a long time, then says, “Lina Lamond.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath, but he seems in a giving mood. And I’m desperate. “There’s one more thing. I’ll only do this if you promise not to send me back into that—thatplace.”
I expected to have to argue hard for that, for Alessandro to say that he could just pretend to be me onCute Crimsand ask people himself—for me to have to point out that no, he couldn’t, because we have so much slang and so many acronyms, he’d be totally lost—but none of that happens.
He just comes closer to me, dark eyes pinning me to the bed like I’m some butterfly on a board. He reaches out to touch my face, trail a finger down it, from my temple to my mouth. “I won’t put you back down there, as long as you behave yourself.”
