Page 38 of Wicked Mafia Sinner

Opposite Rowan’s room is the kitchen and it draws me in. My stomach rumbles at the sight of it, loud enough to echo off the marble, and I press a hand against my abdomen.

I make my way to the kitchen and take it in. One chair at the counter. One glass in the drying rack. One coffee mug on the shelf, positioned front and center, the rest of the shelf empty behind it.

My stomach rumbles again. I eye the refrigerator but I'm not about to start opening the man's fridge like I live here. A bowl of fruit sits on the counter and I grab an apple, biting into it while I keep looking around.

"Jesus," I mutter to the empty room. "This is the loneliest kitchen I've ever seen."

I move back to the living room, spotting a fireplace that hasn’t been used in a while by the looks of it. I trace a finger over the spines of several titles in Russian and English. I run my fingers along the spines, reading what I can. Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Bulgakov. English translations of Norwegian poetry. Military history, maritime law. And tucked between a book on international shipping regulations and a Russian novel I can't pronounce, three books on gardening.

I pull one out. The spine is cracked, pages dog-eared. He read this book more than once, and not casually.

I never thought the Bratva king gardened. I look around. Kinda hard to do underground though.

I put it back.

The library is next. If I thought the collection of books in the living room was massive, the collection in here makes the library in Beauty and the Beast seem small.

It has floor-to-ceiling shelves, a reading chair, and a lamp that angles specifically for a person sitting in that chair. The room smells like paper, worn leather and the faint ghost of something that might be vodka from a recent late night of reading.

A forest green blanket is draped over the reading chair. It looks recently used given the way it’s tossed over the back. I step closer. There’s an imprint of a large body still pressed into the leather cushion.

He slept here last night. While I was in his bed, he was in this chair.

I touch the blanket. It's cold and so is the chair. He's been gone for hours.

He’s probably suffering from a massive back ache and some major leg cramps. Why in the world would he do that to himself? He could have at least spread out on the couch in the living room.

"What the hell kind of man are you?" I ask the empty room.

I return to the bedroom and dip my toes into the cool water.

Ripples from some invisible current move the light in slow patterns across the rock like being inside water. The space is carved directly into the bedrock, natural stone forming the walls and ceiling while the pool itself is a perfect rectangle of illuminated blue.

It's the most beautiful feature of Rowan's underworld I've ever seen and it's totally begging me to enter. Given my lack of clothing options, I opt for another time instead.

I keep walking.

I walk to the windows and press my palm against the glass. The lake stretches out below me, vast and unreachable.

I’m dying to feel the warmth of the sun on my face and maybe get some fresh air. And while I’m out there, I can call my sister.

I try the elevator, but the biometric system flashes red when I press my thumb to the scanner. I try again, but nothing.

I'm locked in? Of-freaking-course I'm locked in.

“Great. That's just great.” I press my thumb to the scanner again like maybe it'll change its mind. It doesn't.

I wander back through the compound, cataloging everything I missed the first time. The art on the walls, abstract pieces in dark colors that probably come from some dark web purchase or museum heist. There’s a second bathroom near the pool that I missed on my first round. It’s stocked with supplies but unused, the towels folded with hotel precision. There’s also a wine cellar off the side of the kitchen on a lower level with bottles I can't pronounce organized by region.

And then I find a hidden door. It's near the kitchen, tucked into an alcove I walked past twice without noticing. A tinge of curiosity passes through me.

I pause. Inside here I’m safe, out there someone might spot me. The primal instinct to cower in the corner and make myself small is strong. The more of myself I can hide the better my brain screams, but I never was one to stick my head in the sand.

Stepping up to the door, I push it open slowly. Cold air brushes over my cheeks, fresh and sharp, carrying the scent of earth and…decay.

I push the door open further and step out onto a large terrace carved out of stone. It’s partially sheltered by the overhang of the ridge above, but open to the beautiful sky. Natural rock makes up the floor with beams of sunshine filtering through scattered clouds.

I raise my face and soak in the warmth and light. I know it's not true, but it feels like I’ve been in the dark for days. The light on my skin lifts some of the worry from my bones and weight from my chest. I inhale deeply and fill my lungs with fresh air.