Chapter 9
Cassandro stared at the heavy steel door, his fair, rosy skin pale under the flickering incandescent light. The artistic, negative-space tattoos on his hands flexed as he reached out and touched the cold metal. The deadbolts were thick, industrial-grade steel, designed to keep something—or someone—permanently locked away from the world above.
"Natalie," Cassandro called out. He kept his volume low, his voice trembling for the first time in years. "Are you in there?"
There was no answer. The silence in the subterranean hallway was deafening, broken only by the faint, slow drip of condensation from a nearby pipe.
Cassandro gripped the handle of the top deadbolt. With a violent, aggressive surge of his deeply masculine strength, he wrenched the heavy bolt backward. It slid open with a loud, metallic screech. He quickly moved to the second bolt, his breathing quickening, his legendary composure finally beginning to fracture under the weight of his desperate hope.
"I'm here, Natalie," Cassandro murmured, pulling back the second lock. "I'm coming."
He grasped the final, bottom deadbolt and threw it open. The lock clicked heavily. Cassandro wrapped his hand around the rusted handle of the steel door and pulled.
The hinges groaned in protest, crying out as the heavy door swung outward.
Cassandro stepped into the hidden room. The space was small, no larger than a walk-in closet, illuminated only by a single, narrow grate near the ceiling that allowed a sliver of natural light to filter down from the garden beds above. The room contained a simple cot, a small basin of water, and a stack of faded books.
The air was stale, but it carried the undeniable, lingering scent of lavender and citrus—Natalie’s perfume.
Cassandro’s cold, intimidating eyes scanned the shadows, desperate to find the woman he had mourned for two years. But the room was empty.
"Natalie?" he whispered, stepping further into the cell.
His polished leather shoe brushed against something on the concrete floor. He looked down. Resting near the foot of the cot was a small, leather-bound journal. Beside it lay a heavy, iron key, completely free from rust, indicating it had been handled recently.
Cassandro slowly knelt down, his unbuttoned shirt shifting over his broad chest as he picked up the journal. He recognized the intricate, embossed pattern on the cover immediately. It was the diary he had gifted her on their first anniversary.
May you like
He opened the cover. The pages were filled with her neat, elegant handwriting.
Cassandro, the first page read. If you are reading this, Audrey remembered the bracelet. I could not let them use me to control you anymore. I found a way out through the drainage tunnels. I am leaving, but I am not abandoning you. I am gathering an army. When the time is right, I will return to burn the Hale family to the ground.
