“Come here and I’ll show you.”
“No!” I squeal as he latches on to my shirt. “We have to make plans. Tongue time later.” Of course, he flat-out ignores me, yanking hard, bringing my back to his chest. He folds his arms around me, blocking me in, then runs his tongue down the side of my neck. He doesn’t stop until I’m a panting mess, obviously remembering that my neck is extremely sensitive.
He then steps away, mouth turned up in a leer. “So, what’s this phrogging?”
A shiver works down my spine, and I try to ignore my ruined underwear as I pull myself out of the fog of lust. “It’s when you move into someone’s house without them knowing.”
Cruz’s brows lower in thought. “How does that work?”
Leaning back against the wall, I fold one leg over the other and put my hands in my pockets. “It only works for bigger houses or ones with basements or attics. Generally, people do it for a place to stay for a day or two, before moving on to the next one. Dante is single, so we don’t have to worry about a girlfriend or wife. After my escape, Vincenzo ordered that all my cousins live separately. They’re basically raised by nannies and tutors. So none of Dante’s children should be there, either. My father bought out a city block. He doesn’t know this, but I discovered his secret tunnels when I was a kid.”
“Secret tunnels?” Cruz looks intrigued by this, and I can see the wheels turning as he considers the ramifications.
“Yep,” I reply, popping the p. “He built them as an escape route if they’re ever needed. All the houses have them, and they are all connected. I can take us in through them, and we can set up in Dante’s house. He has around eight bedrooms and an attic, so there will be space for us to hide.”
“Okay,” Cruz draws out, “but I don’t understand this ‘phrogging.’ We are going to stay in his house?”
A grin stretches across my face. “Yes, we’ll move in, so to speak. I want you to have your revenge, but I also want us to get away with it, to keep Vincenzo calm. I want to scare Dante to death.”
Cruz crosses his arms, his eyes gleaming as he watches me. “Tell me more.”
Due to Vincenzo’s missing daughter appeal, we decide it will be safer for Cruz to pick up the things we’ll need. I send him out with a list, and after he’s been to a costume and electronics store, he comes back with bags full of his purchases, and even better, a large bag containing lunch.
As we eat, we go over our plans, then wait for nightfall.
Once it’s dark, we stuff our supplies into backpacks and dressed all in black, make our way outside. The sky is an inky black, a perfect night for stargazing—if the city’s lights didn’t obstruct the view. We flag down a taxi and head for the Upper East Side. We disembark a block away, then wander up the street, hand-in-hand with our hoods pulled low over our faces. Hopefully, we resemble a couple of teens and no one gives us a second look.
I tug Cruz into a tight alley, in between a bakery and bodega. Although closed for the night, the scent of fresh bread and cakes still wafts in the air, making my stomach growl. Ignoring it, we melt into the shadows and wait quietly. No one passes, so after a moment I crouch down, ignoring the garbage and filth tossed on the ground. Cruz slides some of it away with his boots, and I glance up at him, smiling my thanks. Now, where is it—my hand brushes up against metal, and a grin tears across my face. Here it is.
Slipping my fingers into the holes drilled into the sides, I can feel my muscles clench as I pull the cover off. “After you,” Cruz says, elation clear on his face. I can only imagine the excitement he must be feeling. To know that his revenge is so close, his mission nearly complete.
Handing him my backpack, I step onto the ladder, then quickly climb down. Cruz drops the two bags down to me, then follows quickly after, pulling the cover back over the hole. Flicking on our flashlights, I shudder at the thought of rats. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to deal with them. I push the thought of the cage away and focus on our surroundings. I haven’t been in these tunnels for years, and I close my eyes, gripping onto Cruz’s arms as I go back, searching, remembering. “This way,” I say quietly, taking his hand and leading down the dark, rank tunnels.
We make a couple of wrong turns, but after twenty minutes or so, we come out into a little vestibule of sorts that leads into Dante’s basement. I eye the code lock on the door with dismay. This is new, and something I wasn’t expecting. “Fuck,” I whisper, running a hand through my hair.
“What’s wrong?”
“There were never code locks on the doors before. Motherfuckers!” Clenching my fists, I rack my brain. Surely each building can’t have a separate code. The whole point of the tunnels is to provide an easy escape or entrance. When you’re on the run, who has time to deal with codes? Let alone remembering one out of dozens?
It wouldn’t make sense. These were probably installed as a safety measure in case anyone came down into the tunnels to investigate. No one in my so-called family wants strangers poking around in their business.
Vincenzo may be smart, but he can sometimes be lazy. I can’t imagine him memorizing different codes. He’s also a narcissist through and through. Holding my breath, I tap in six figures, my heart racing furiously. I grit my teeth and press enter. The light turns green, and I can hear locks unbolting, relief rushing through me. Of course, the code is the date Vincenzo took over the family business. Letting out a deep breath, I toss a grin Cruz’s way, then slowly ease the door open, peering inside.
The windowless basement is pitch black, nothing but shadows upon shadows that seem to twist and move around us as we inch our way into the room. Cruz pulls out a penlight and sweeps it around the room, making me blink as the bright light rips through the darkness.
I’ll admit I’m glad it’s Dante’s basement we’re in and not Cesare’s. While Dante’s holds old boxes and covered furniture, Cesare’s would be much more sinister. And most likely occupied.
Locating the stairs, we creep up silently and again check the door at the top, listening for sounds before opening it. The door lets us out into the butler’s pantry, and we quietly move out into the kitchen, then the hallway. A faint glow shines out from Dante’s office farther down the hall, so I take Cruz in the opposite direction.
Dante’s house is lavish and much too large for one man to live in alone. We don’t stop to explore though, we can do that later, once he’s retired for the night. I drag Cruz up one flight of stairs and then another, heading for the attic.
Provided nothing has changed up there, I remember there being a couple of beds and other mismatched furniture. It will most likely be dusty, but a little dirt never hurt anyone. And if there are any creepy eight-legged demon spawn around, I’ll, well, have Cruz kill them for me.
The man’s gotta be good for something more than his pretty looks, right?
Passing room after room, we finally come to the door I remember leading to the attic. The one rule about phrogging is not getting caught, so keeping quiet is the name of the game. Once we get to the top, Cruz pulls a light string, lighting the attic with a dimly lit bulb.
It’s worse than I thought. Looks like good old Uncle Dante has an issue with hoarding. Or he’s just too lazy to throw shit away.Just as I remember, there are two beds, both covered with dust covers, gray and filthy with years’ worth of dust and grime. There are boxes everywhere, most of which are not marked, stacks of paperwork, an old rocking horse his kids used to play on.
