Page 82 of Velvet Cruelty

There’s a light knock on the door. “You ready to go, Miss?”

I put on my best ‘meeting new people’ smile. “I’ll be right out.”

Harvey leads me from my wing down another red carpeted hallway. The house is even prettier by daylight, but it’s dirty. There’s an inch of dust on every surface and cobwebs across the gorgeous stained-glass windows. Beyond them, I can see the edge of a thick green forest. We seem to be miles away from anywhere.

“Excuse me, Harvey?” I ask, trying to sound innocent. “Where are we?”

“Albany.”

Relief floods through me. Upstate New York. Not too far from home.

“And what is this place? It’s so beautiful.”

“Isn’t it? Velvet House belongs to Mr. Morelli now, but it was built by Wallace McKenna in 1869. He was a financier and a Governor of New York…”

As we walk down wooden bannisters and past huge bedrooms, Harvey keeps up his tour guide-y speech. He tells me when the conservatory was built and how old certain paintings are and the important people who were married in the gardens. I smile and nod, but my mind keeps dragging me back to last night. Kneeling in front of the fire as Doc took off his shirt; Eli murmuring to me in Italian….

Slut, my mind whispers. If I’d let them have me last night, I’d probably be on a plane to Italy right now. Is Eli still going to send me away? The floor seems to skid beneath me and I halt, one hand over my eyes.

“Miss? Are you okay?”

“Just a bit dizzy.” I try and smile at Harvey. “Is, um, Mr. Morelli or any of the others around…?”

His expression is a little too sympathetic. “Mr. Morelli and Mr. Bassilotta have gone to New York and Mr. Rossi and Mr. Valente have business elsewhere today.”

“Oh.” I suppose it was the same while I was in the cage and I just had no idea, but it’s strange they’ve gone and left me here. Like all five of us should be in the same space.

“Mr. Morelli told me you’re free to explore the house,” Harvey says. “There’s a library and gym. Or you can visit the family gallery on the third floor or watch a movie in the cinema. Or I’d be happy to take you for a walk around the grounds?”

My head swims. I just want to go somewhere quiet and sit down. “That all sounds really lovely but could I maybe have breakfast before I decide please?”

“Of course.”

We continue on our way, Harvey talking about the history of Velvet House at the top of his voice, and I wonder if he was involved in getting rid of Kurt’s body. He seems like such a nice man. Is he some kind of psychopath? But then who am I to judge? I let Kurt’s murderer go down on me. And I came while he did it. I could blame the Orchard, but I’d be lying.

Your morals are untested.

It’s another couple of minutes of winding staircases and same-y hallways before we enter a marble-floored area. Harvey pushes open a metal door. “This is the kitchen.”

I have to bite my tongue to keep from crying out. It’s gigantic, even bigger than the cafeteria at school, and it’s filthy. Every surface is covered in grease or dirty cups and plates, and it smells like old vegetables that have been left in the sun. If Zia Teresa saw this place, she would faint.

Harvey clears his throat. “It’s a little… We haven’t had a cleaner in a while. Or a chef. Let’s not stay here. Your breakfast is this way.”

He leads me out through another door to a beautiful dining room that is also filthy. The massive table is heaving with boxes and paper and takeout containers and more dirty plates. There’s so much garbage that most of the velvet-backed chairs have been stacked high too.

Harvey points to where a small space has been cleared for me. A box of cornflakes waits patiently next to a bottle of milk and a single bowl and spoon. “There you go, Miss”

“Thank you, Harvey.” Inside, I’m screaming. How do these men live like this? I know they’re murderers but messing up this gorgeous old house is a different kind of crime.

I take my seat and pour the cereal. Harvey hovers with grandfatherly concern. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Only if you’re getting some for yourself,” I say, and a thought occurs to me. “Mr. Harvey—”

“Just Harvey.”

“Sorry, Harvey, how many people work at Velvet House?”

I expect him to become cagy, but he keeps smiling at me. “There’s a rotating staff of thirty, and five of us live on site. Gretzky and myself you’ve already met, but there’s also Dolmio, Jackie Schnee and my son, Sal.”

---