Page 136 of Broken Mafia Bride
“Can’t believe we have to do another sweep,” one of them grumbles. “We just did one twenty minutes ago.”
“Boss’s orders. Someone outside thought they saw something. Now we all have to pay for it.”
I slip past them when their backs are turned, too busy complaining to notice anything. Close to the wing I’ve hardly stepped foot in, I see a study filled with leather chairs and old books. I cut through it, keeping to the walls.
The staff wing is busier, with the soft clinking of dishes and murmured conversations drifting from the kitchen. A maid appears from a side door, her arms piled high with linens. She nearly barrels into me, her gaze fixed on the mess of sheets. I duck into a small alcove just as she passes, the scent of fresh laundry and lavender cutting through the mustiness of the hallway.
A muffled voice crackles over a guard’s radio nearby. I catch fragments—“West exit secure… perimeter check in five.” I move quickly before anyone decides to double back.
The layout of the house is familiar; I memorized it the moment Matteo got his hands on the blueprints, back when we first started to suspect Lucio’s dealings.
But blueprints don’t account for the bodies roaming the halls.
The staff kitchen is just ahead. I can smell food and something rich and greasy, probably left out from earlier. My heartbeat slows, steadying itself for what’s next.
The guard Matteo mentioned is slumped against the counter, eyes glued to his phone. His gun rests on the marble beside him.
I step quietly, boots touching the floor like I’m afraid to breathe. He chuckles at something on his screen, his guard completely down.
“Fucking idiot,” I mutter under my breath as I ease past him. He doesn’t even flinch.
When I round the corner toward the pantry, the sharp clink of a glass hitting the floor makes me freeze. A maid is sweeping up broken shards, her voice a low stream of curses.
My fists tighten. She’s blocking the door.
She scoops the glass into a dustpan, her back turned to me. I slide around her, muscles tensed, eyes locked on the pantry. The false door is just ahead, hidden behind a row of pantry shelves.
She hums to herself, some old tune that scratches against the air.
It’s easy for me to find the false door in the shelves when I know what I’m looking for. I push it open with straining muscles and step into the dark stairwell.
I look back briefly to see the guard’s still distracted. The maid’s still humming. I slip inside, closing the door softly behind me.
The darkness swallows everything. It’s cool and stale, like stepping into a cave. The air is filled with the scent of dust and something metallic.
Earlier, I’d hesitated, briefly contemplating whether to go back and alert Pepe about what’s happening, but there was no time. Last we spoke, he had to make sure Lucio still believes he’s out of town on business today to avoid drawing attention.
Plus, I have something else on me to aid this mission. I can only hope we succeed with the limited time we have—and the high risk of it all blowing up in our faces.
It feels like there’s an invisible hourglass floating above my head, its sand steadily running out.
A few seconds of delay could be the difference between life and death for Giulia and Noemi.
With that thought in mind, I hurry down the uneven stairs. The air down here is even worse than upstairs, stiff and musky, and breathing is a struggle. I pull in as much air into my lungs as I can and barrel on. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.
The bunker has five hallways branching out from the staircase. I have no idea which one I’m supposed to take. Searching through each of them will take too long, and I have no doubt I’ll be discovered if I go in blind.
Damn it.
I consider calling Matteo again, but he did say he doesn’t have eyes down here. If something changed, he’d have called to let me know. I take a deep breath and head toward the second passageway. The same instincts that have kept me alive this long—and fueled my belief that Giulia was still out there, alive—are urging me forward.
I move carefully down the hall. There are several doors on each side, and I take my time unlocking each one, searching for any signs of life. With every door I open, my hope wanes a little more.
If they’re not down here, then where the hell are they? Matteo said there’s been no sign of movement on the grounds. Which means they have to be somewhere—in this house, or down here.
“I need to take a piss,” a man’s frustrated voice reaches me.
I duck behind a stack of wooden barrels in the corner, pressing my back to the side of the stack and peeking through a gap between two kegs. Ahead are two of Lucio’s guards. I take note of the guns tucked into the holsters at their hips.
