Page 143 of Made for Sinners

The panel shifted, revealing a narrow seam in the floor.

He glanced up at me, his voice low. “Help me slide it.”

Together, we pushed the altar aside. It groaned in protest, the wood scraping against the stone. Beneath it, a trapdoor was embedded in the floor—old, weathered, and ringed with iron.

He reached down and pulled it open.

The smell hit me first—damp earth, mildew, and something older. The scent of secrets. Of escape.

A narrow tunnel yawned beneath us, the stone walls slick with condensation. A rusted ladder descended into the darkness, swallowed by shadow after only a few rungs.

I stared down into it, my heart thudding.

“It still leads out?” I asked.

He nodded. “Through the woods. About a mile past the tree line, there’s a stone outcropping. Hidden by brambles. That’s the exit.”

I crouched beside the opening, peering into the gloom. “Has anyone used it recently?”

He shook his head. “Not since the last war. But it’s still sound.”

I hesitated.

Then I turned to him. “Can you give me a moment?”

He blinked. “Signora?”

“I just want to look. Alone.”

He looked torn, but after a beat, he nodded. “As you wish. I have some rose bushes to tend do anyhow.”

When the door creaked shut behind him, I sat on the edge of the opening and lowered myself onto the ladder.

The metal was cold beneath my hands, slick with condensation. I descended slowly, my breath echoing off the narrow walls. My phone’s flashlight cast a pale beam ahead of me, illuminating the tunnel’s uneven stone floor and the low ceiling that forced me to crouch.

It was narrow. Cramped. But it was real.

Freedom, carved into the earth.

I didn’t go far—just enough to feel the weight of the estate fall away above me. Just enough to know that if I wanted to, I could disappear.

I could be gone before Dante even noticed.

The thought made my stomach twist.

I climbed back up, my hands dirty, my heart racing. I closed the trapdoor and wiped my palms on my thighs, trying to steady myself. The altar was heavier than I remembered, but I managed to push it back into place just as the chapel door creaked open again.

Dante stepped inside.

My breath caught.

He wasn’t in a suit. Just a black t-shirt and dark jeans, his hair tousled, his jaw shadowed with stubble. Casual. Dangerous. Beautiful.

He stopped just inside the threshold, his eyes locking onto mine.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice low.

I straightened, brushing dust off my hands. “Just… walking.”

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