Page 59 of Cruel Existence

“Twenty minutes.” I sighed.

“Oui.”

“The tunnels?” I glanced at him. “Do you think it spread in the tunnels?” Beneath the offices were twenty-five connecting tunnels that spanned almost fifteen miles. If they had beenbreached by the flames, the entire vineyard would have been lost. I’d never be able to recuperate that kind of production.

“I don’t know, Monsieur Novikov.”

“Was there anyone else here?” I still wondered where the cadets were. I turned to see them running from the castle gate.

“No,” he answered. “Only me.”

“About time,” I growled when the ten men gathered around me.

By now, the men who worked in the grape fields had begun to gather close to us. I saw their eyes. The fear and uncertainty the fire brought. Every time a spark launched off the roof I watched to see if it would hit one of the vines. What then? I was about to lose all of it. Was I going to lose the grapes too?

“Monsieur Novikov?” The man in uniform approached. He had returned the baton to his holster. I glared at him, my arms folded over my chest.

“Yes.” I stepped forward.

“The fire is contained.”

“Did it spread to the tunnels?” I asked. “How much damage is there? Have you checked the castle?”

“Come with me.” He led me away from the vineyard workers. We stopped on the other side of the rescue engine. “I’m sorry, but the offices are a total loss. The castle is far enough from the original fire that it is safe.”

“What about the casks? The wine and champagne? I have a million bottles under our feet.”

“I sent a team to the first level. I think you might have some heat damage, but there wasno fire.”

I exhaled. I could rebuild a cottage. I could rebuild a tasting venue and a gazebo for weddings. I couldn’t reproduce a hundred years’ worth of priceless grapes, let alone let my shipping mechanism disintegrate. Without those bottles, I had no way of getting through customs. Fuck.

“Thank you.” I nodded at the report.

“I will begin an investigation as soon as I’m able to set foot in there. It’s still too hot.”

“You think someone started the fire?”

“We will find out if that’s what happened.”

My brow furrowed. The officer walked away. I rubbed the back of my head, trying to make sense of what happened. I had to catch my breath and figure out what I was going to do next. When I glanced at the workers, I noticed their families had started to join them. One man put his arm around his wife’s shoulder. She leaned into him as they watched the weeping smoke curl in tendrils over the roof.

The vineyard was going to require all my attention now. Were the burning embers the escape I needed? Salvation in disguise. I wasn’t religious. Barely spiritual, but maybe God had tossed me a line. I needed to grab on and take hold before I drowned.

Twenty-Five

AMARA

Iwas exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that seeped into my pores and made every muscle ache. I felt the fatigue crawling along my neck and reaching into the base of my skull. I had another headache, one that was quickly turning into a migraine. I needed to lie down in a room with the blinds drawn or I’d be plagued with it for two days. I didn’t have two days to spend in the dark. A few hours at most.

The weeks had blurred together. Endless appointments with specialists. Arguments. Discussions. Tears that were spawned out of frustration and anger more than grief. Followed by tears of guilt for not caring more than I did. The emotion was topped with trying to run the entire Amato organization on my own. It wasn’t unexpected that it was time to take the reins. Only, it wasn’t supposed to be horrible timing. There were measures my father had in place.

Uncle Gio wasn’t helpful. He argued with me as much as myfather did. I had to hold my ground with two men at the same time.

There were still loose ends. My father was adamant they be taken care of without Gio’s interference. One of them Ciro had been sent to tie up. It was highly unusual that he separated me from Ciro’s watchful eye. It could only mean one thing—this was a life-or-death mission. I didn’t know what it was and that made me nervous. When Ciro returned from Philadelphia tomorrow, I would insist he tell me what last errand he had run for my father.

I neared my father’s room. I paused outside his door. I hated walking inside, now more than usual.

It didn’t seem long ago when it smelled like cologne and cedar. Now I could only smell antiseptic and meals that were left out too long. He had stopped eating the day he was discharged from the hospital. The cook had given up on him touching the chicken or steamed vegetables. She had resorted to breakfast foods and eggs smelled horrible when left out.

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