He looked down to see a sideways smile on Autumn’s face. He chuckled, “I wouldn’t know.”
“Or am I walking through a servant’s entryway because he’s afraid his colleagues will be uncomfortable, I could identify them and report them to the police?”
“I’m sure you can reassure him yourself.”
She made no comment as they rounded a corner. This hallway grew darker, lit by old-fashioned gas lamps. There was an eerie quality to the maze-like hallway. As a kid, Nico always felt like he was entering a hidden speakeasy.
“Interesting how I walked into what appeared to be a modern home, but now I feel as if I’ve strolled into an old boarding house,” Autumn pointed to the lamps along the wall.
Nico shrugged, “From what I’ve heard, he enjoys fucking with his soldiers’ minds. My uncle thinks he can mold his men into better people by giving them a piece of history.”
“Forcing them to do his bidding makes them better men?” Autumn asked with a raised eyebrow. “I fail to see the logic, but if that’s what you would like to believe.”
It didn’t matter to Nico. He didn’t live this life.
You would fit right in.
Nico ground his molars and ignored the thought.
They continued down the hall in silence, then rounded another corner and descended a set of steps. When they reached the landing, Nico turned. They walked towards a door with two men standing on each side. They peered down at Autumn, then Nico, whom they greeted in Italian. Phillipo knocked on the door twice, then swept it open.
Nico hadn’t been there for a while. He took in his uncle’s massive oak desk. Two large claw-footed chairs sat in front of the desk and one behind it Casale sat with his fingers steepled together. The Godfather theme played in the background. Nico watched Autumn glance around the room as if searching for the emergency exits.
He put his hands in his pockets and glanced at the old phonograph on an end table by the desk. Ancient pictures of old mob bosses littered the wall.
“Ah, I have finally gotten to meet Miss Taylor,” Arturo said in his thick Italian accent. His words slurred slightly. Nico glanced at the decanter of red wine next to his uncle. He’d already downed half of the bottle. “Are you finished with your little observations?” His voice brought Autumn’s gaze back around. Arturo’s lips curled in a sneer as he took in the black pants she wore to the white buttoned-down shirt and black jacket to the low bun at the back of her head.
Autumn raised her eyebrows, “Are you done with yours?”
Arturo smirked, “Touché, Miss Taylor.” He motioned to the chairs in front of him, “Sit.”
Nico stood against the wall, his arms crossed over the black suit jacket.
Autumn held her arms close to her body and a narrowed gaze landed on Arturo. Nico couldn’t give her any direction since he didn’t know what his uncle wanted with her.
To gawk and see if she was a worthy adversary.
“Wine?” Arturo motioned to the side where the alcohol sat. Beside the glass with red droplets on the lip, a couple more crystal glasses were ready to be filled.
Autumn’s lips creased into a Mona Lisa smile. “I don’t drink when I’m working, Mr. Casale.”
Arturo grunted and gave a gallic shrug, “Pity, might loosen you up.”
Nico watched Autumn’s lips turn down and purse into a thin line, “What do you want?”
Arturo fiddled with the stem of his glass. There were little cylindrical bumps every couple of inches. He circled one before moving to the next until he held the bowl in his hand and brought it to his mouth. The red liquid slowly sloshed like the Red Sea as it swirled in the glass.
Arturo eyed Autumn. “What exactly does a crime scene analyst do, Miss Taylor? Is it a fancy word for…” He took another swallow of the wine. “Profiler?”
Autumn lifted her chin, “Profiler’s come from Quantico in DC, Mr. Casale.”
“Ahh,” he smiled back at Autumn. “But you know what they do.”
She turned to Nico then back at Arturo. “I know what they do,” she said coolly.
“Your job and theirs are similar, yes?”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” Autumn questioned. Her tone took on a bored quality.
