Page 57 of Cage of Thorns and Blood

Making quick work of checking the drawer, I’m soon satisfied there are no more surprises. I place the journal and envelopes in the desk exactly as they were before I disturbed them. I close the desk and lock it. It takes me almost ten minutes to do so because my hands are so shaky.

Then I explore. I wrack my brains as I wander around the study, trying to think where he might hide the money, and then like a breath of sweet fresh air, after hours stuck in a hot room, the memory rushes in.

The library. I’m in the wrong room if I want his money. He told me years ago that his father had a set of Dickens’ books. The sort of leather-bound collection lots of people had, except his father kept money in his. They were hollowed out and used to store cash. Matteo used to steal the odd twenty pounds here and there and take us out.

I race out of the den and down the long corridor to the library. It only takes me five minutes to find the Dickens’ collection. I open the first book and take out the money inside, counting it. It’s all in fifty-pound notes, and it comes to a few thousand. I do the same with each book, until all the money is gone.

Smirking and feeling less upset than I did ten minutes ago, I exit the room and walk into the den. I pour myself a large glass of vodka and don't even bother to add ice. I down the drink, and the burn soothes the nausea that is rising.

I need to get out of here. I need time to think. I use my phone to order a cab, and then I write Matteo a note and leave it on the kitchen counter.

Hi Matteo, I'm sorry to bail early, but I've started to feel a little bit unwell. I think I might be getting a migraine. Rain check and see you soon? Renata xx

I do sometimes still get the occasional migraine, although they are nowhere near as bad as they were when I was younger. Then they could be a common occurrence and were debilitating. At least using that as an excuse means he's likely to believe it.

The taxi arrives, and I step outside and curse as I realize I don't have a key or any way of locking the door. I slam the door and stomp across the gravel to the outbuilding and bang on the door. Eventually a man with messy brown hair answers the door, a scowl on his face.

“Sorry to disturb you,” I say. Not sorry at all. “I need to leave as I’ve come down with a migraine. I don't have a key for the door, though. I didn't really want to walk out of here and leave the mansion unlocked with everything in there ready for the picking.”

“I don't think you're just allowed to leave, ma'am,” he says.

“Firstly, what the fuck with the ma’am, and secondly, I can go wherever I want at anytime. I'm not a prisoner here. Either go and lock the door, or sit in the house and make sure your boss’s things don't get taken, because if he comes back and finds the place emptied out you'll be in a lot of trouble.” I storm to the idling car and clamber in. The front door to the house is left unlocked but let his fucking security deal with that.

We turn off the driveway and onto the road, and I look behind me and see the dark shape of the SUV coming around from the back of the house. Fuck the security detail if they think they're following me. I don't need his stupid protection. I will be getting my own, though. Immediately.

I won't go to Nico or Babbo to beg for their help on this. Instead, I will use my own money. Men have let me down my entire life, so I think I'll get myself a female team.

I remember then that Cindy has a female team looking after her, and I text her. Two minutes later I get a reply. It's a phone number, and I call it immediately.

“Yes,” a male voice answers with a Russian accent.

“Who am I speaking to?” I ask. Cindy told me this was the number for the office and it was likely that Cassie would answer.

“This is Konstantin Silvanov,” he replies.

Oooh, I remember him. He’s the big, scowly Russian bastard who was at Nico’s wedding. I would have quite liked to seduce him, but he is happily married, and I might not have many moral qualms but stealing another woman’s husband for the night is one of them.

“Hello, Konstantin. My name is Renatta Andretti. I’m the sister of Nico Andretti. You provide security for his wife, Cindy.”

“Dah.”

“I’d like to hire some security for myself, please.”

“Of course. Let me get my wife, and she can talk you through the services and packages we offer.”

“Do you have availability of any female protection officers? I really don’t want men.”

He sighs and tries to turn it into a cough. “I’m not sure we do. Cassie will talk with you, but we’re getting a lot of demand for female security teams, and we don’t have all that much availability.”

“Perhaps you ought to train some more then,” I say snippily.

“You think? Why didn’t I think of that.”

I hear muffled speaking, and then a woman comes on the line. “Hi there. Renata Andretti, is it?”

“Yes,” I say.

“I’m Cassie. Sorry about my husband. There’s a reason I do the client facing work and not him. Now, why don’t you tell me what you want and how we can help you?”

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