“That way.” He nods in the direction in front of me. “We have to crawl.”
“Where the hell are we?”
“Keep moving. Question later.”
He nudges me, and I let out a grunt as I listen.
Gunfire raining down on you is scary. Being trapped in a narrow tunnel with no idea where you’re going is downright frightening.
I let out a whimper.
“You’re doing great. Just keep going and don’t stop.”
With his assurance, I crawl for what feels like the length of a football field.
“Have I ever told you that I’m afraid of small spaces?” I say.
“Nope. Never came up.”
“Well … this is me telling you that I positively hate feeling trapped. Elevators, rides where you’re strapped down, windowless rooms, airplanes—”
“The Grand Canyon.”
“What?” My tone is exasperated.
“We were talking a few weeks ago, and you asked where I’d like to travel. I ignored the question, but the answer was the Grand Canyon. If you can picture it, there’s this wide span of clay mountains. They’re red and orange with this golden hue that appears when the sun hits the tops. Over the course of the day, the sun moves over the ridges, lighting up one majestic scene after the other.”
His visual is helping me maintain my nerves.
“Do … do you hike?”
“Going down the canyon is the fun part. If you don’t like to walk, you can get a mule.”
“You, on a mule?”
“I said, you could. I can manage it on foot. Sometimes, the pathways are so shadowy, you don’t know where you’re going. Then, the sun hits at the right angle, and it’s brilliantly lit. You see a small stream gurgling over rocks, leading to the Colorado River.”
“What do you do when you get to the bottom?”
“Admire the beauty. Have lunch. Go rafting.”
His calming voice keeps my hands and feet moving steadily.
“In the Colorado River? I didn’t know you were such a thrill seeker.”
He laughs lowly. “There are many things you don’t know about me.” With a hand on my foot, he slows me. “Stop for a second.”
There’s a metal grate on the side of the wall. Jesse hands me the phone, and I point it toward the grate. There are slots just big enough for fingers to fit through. He braces his legs as he grips the metal and gives it a yank.
It doesn’t move.
My heart sinks with the realization that we are quite possibly going to die in here.
His face turns bright red, and his neck bulges. A deep rumble in his throat echoes as he attempts to remove the grate once again. His body shakes with the might he’s exerting. When he lets go, the grate is still on the wall, and he’s breathing fitfully with sweat beading down his temples.
Despite his two failed attempts, I can see the determination in his eyes. His jaw is set tight as he stares at the grate, mustering up the energy to try again.
“You can do this, Jesse,” I say with sheer conviction, and he blinks at me in surprise by the encouragement.
With a nod, he pulls his sleeves up and readjusts his large body. He braces his foot against the wall as his hands grip the grate. With animalistic grit, his body quakes with the adrenaline as he lets out a loud yell, pulling and shuddering, loosening the metal from the wall inch by inch until it pops out, sending him falling backward.
“Jesse!” I drop his phone and take the metal off of him. It’s heavy as I shove it to the side, careful not to cut him with the sharp edges. My hands roam over his head and shoulders, making sure he didn’t hurt himself in any way. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He sits up, and I’m relieved.
“You did it!” I cheer. I have no idea where this new path leads, but it feels like a small victory in this aimless escape plan we’re on.
His chest puffs with heavy breaths. “Keep going.”
I nod and take his phone with me as I climb feetfirst through the opening.
Jesse is diligent at covering our tracks, putting the grate back in place behind us. When it’s secured, he stands up straight and stretches his arms up over his head, arching his back with the motion. We’re now in a large tunnel, big enough for a small car to drive through.
He holds his hand up to his face, and I realize I’m flashing the light right in his eyes.
“Sorry.” I move the direction of the light. “Where do we go now?”
He points straight ahead. “Only one way.”
I look around and realize he’s right. “Is now a good time for me to ask if you know where we’re going?”
With his hands on his hips, he looks over at me and smiles. “Yes, Amelia, I know where we’re going.”
His skin is glistening from sweat, and his eyes are piercing. Yes, I know this is hardly the time to appreciate how handsome he is, but I just had a near-death experience. I’m sure this is some crazy side effect. A defense mechanism from thinking about the reality at hand.
“My family!” I shout as said reality comes plummeting to the front of my brain. “I need to call them.” I look down at his phone and see there’s no service. A heavy weight sits in my belly. “What if my mother and sister arrived when they …” My voice trails off, as I can’t finish the thought. My stomach drops, leaving a hollow pit.
Jesse walks toward me. His hands are on my arms, rubbing affectionately, as his gaze lowers to meet mine. “They’re okay. Knowing them, they’re still home. Your sister always arrives an hour late to any of your family dinners.”
I relax slightly at his correct assessment. “My father?”
He shakes his head with a shrug. “I have no idea, but I do know that Raphael Sorrentino is a smart man. As are your uncles. They’re armed, and they have security.”
“Who were those men? Why would they want to kill anyone?”
“They came for your uncle Frankie.” He takes a pause before adding, “And your father.”
“What makes you think that?”
The way his eyes look up toward the cavernous ceiling as he takes a deep breath lets me know he’s privy to information I’m not.
“Amelia,” he starts and then stops, as if he heard something.
We still and wait in silence. I don’t hear anything, but I stand stiff and listen.
He places his hand in mine. “We need to keep going.”
The tunnel is long and dark, but after the small space we just crawled through, I’m not as nervous. Plus, there’s something about Jesse—his voice, his touch, his commanding presence—that puts me at ease.
The tunnel splits, and we take the path on the right.
“How did you know this was here?” I ask when we’re a good distance away from the grate and the noises that seemed to plague Jesse.
“Would you believe me if I said I was interested in underground topography?”
I shake my head. “No.”
His hand tightens on mine. It’s callused in a way that surprises me. For a bartender, I expected his hands to be smooth, and yet the rough edges make me feel protected.
“These tunnels were built in the ’20s, back when bootleggers had parties and needed to escape the police raids. The mob expanded on them in the ’60s when they built their mansions on top as a way to avoid arrests. These tunnels are secret passages to homes, which is how I knew there was one at Villa Russo. They also use them to smuggle drugs and weapons.”