“Same,” I say. “But I do think there’s a clock in the kitchen. Want me to check?”
“If you don’t mind?” Luna makes a face. “I’d get up, but I’m so exhausted from everything that’s happened today, I don’t think I can move.”
I get up to do the honors and realize the wine we’ve all been drinking is hitting me. Turns out, when Bianca said this place is stocked, she meant it has a whole-ass wine cellar. We’re all a bit tipsy, but what else is there to do when you’re locked in a safe house, trying to keep the panic at bay?
Luna is worried about Priest. And I’m worried about Alessio, even though I have no claim on him. The twins are stilladjusting. The best way to take the edge off is with some killer pinot grigio. It’s not like we have many other options.
I make my way into the kitchen area, the tiles cold on my bare feet. Next time I’m going to be locked into a mobster safe house, I’ll remember to bring a pair of slippers. Not that I’m going to ever find myself in this situation again. Soon, I’ll be flying back home.
Where I don’t have a home.
I’ve been so caught up in the maelstrom that’s been happening around me, I’ve given little thought to where I’ll go and what I’ll do when it’s time for me to leave. There’s nothing for me in Iowa any longer except for a storage unit. Leaving here feels wrong in a soul-deep way that I don’t want to examine.
The clock on the microwave says it’s almost four a.m. I had no idea it was that late. And Alessio and Priest still aren’t back. The knot in my stomach grows as I head back to the living room.
“Three fifty-seven,” I announce to everyone.
“Late.” Luna sighs, her expression giving away her feelings. “I was hoping they’d have returned by now.”
Me too, but I don’t say that out loud.
“Sorry I made you get up, Is,” Luna says. “I forgot that I could have asked Basil.”
I plop back into the comfy, oversized couch, confused. “Who’s Basil?”
“You mean no one told you? Listen and learn.” She looks up at the ceiling. “Hey, Basil.”
“Yes, madam?” asks a disembodied male voice with a British accent.
“This place is bullshit,” Luna pronounces.
“Regretfully, I cannot understand your request,” responds the voice. “Please try again later.”
“What the hell was that?” I ask.
“Basil is the safe house’s virtual assistant. He adjusts the TV volume and lights, and in an emergency, he can call any of the boys for you.”
Referring to the muscled, six-foot-plus Andriani men as boys is quite the misnomer, but I don’t bother to correct her. I’m still vaguely miffed that there’s been a virtual British butler lurking in the ceiling and no one told me about him.
“This place is getting weirder by the minute,” Bianca says.
Which pretty much sums up my thoughts too.
I polish off my wine, thinking I’ll go take a hot shower to try to calm myself down. My panic is ramping up now that I officially know what time it is. The whole Basil thing was a temporary distraction, but it didn’t last long.
Where is Alessio? What if something happened to him? My mind is spinning.
Lucky comes into the living room then, his expression tense as his eyes fall on Luna. “Update—Priest and Saint are meeting with the Russians tomorrow to work out a deal. They’re staying in the city for the night.”
Relief washes over me. Alessio is safe.
For now. As long as he’s in the Mafia, he’ll never truly be safe. I hate that. How does Luna live like this, knowing the man she loves could be in grave danger at any given minute?
“You do know it’s bullshit that I had to lock my phone up in a Faraday bag before coming here, right?” Luna asks Lucky, sounding annoyed.
“It’s for your protection.”
“You have a phone,” she points out.
