Conquer Your Love (26 page)

“There’s only one way to find out for sure, you know?” Jett’s eyes fixed
on me. “We’d have to smash in the wall. We could keep the damage small, so it
can be easily repaired and no one will notice.”

Opening Pandora’s box.

I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat.

“Alessandro’s been pretty clear in his wishes,” I said.

“You’re the heiress. You have a right to know what’s behind that wall.”
Jett’s voice was determined, rough,
almost
cold. And
as usual, he had a point. ”Once you inherit this estate, you automatically
inherit its demons. You need to know what you’re dealing with.”

A shiver ran down my spine. A voice inside my head urged me to run away
as fast as possible and yet my legs didn’t move. I wanted to know and yet I
didn’t. I could just honor Alessandro’s wish and pretend for the rest of my
life that this wall didn’t exist. But could I live like that?
In fear.
Not knowing what lay hidden beyond. Always
wondering. Obsessing.

Jett inched closer and grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to meet his
gaze.

“Brooke, I told you already Alessandro secrets are dangerous. I know you
don’t believe me, but I made a promise to protect you.” His eyes were dark,
glistening, demanding something from me that was difficult to give.

My heart hammered against my chest as I was torn between two options. Do
it, or don’t do it.

But did I really have a choice?

“Okay,” I said before I could change my mind. “Let’s do it.”

“I’ll be careful. First thing tomorrow I’ll have a professional fix it
and no one will know.”

“Okay.” I nodded, trusting him completely.

“Do you want to wait upstairs?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I want to stay and help. Where do we start?”

Jett smiled. His thumb gently grazed my cheek. “Let’s find a
screwdriver, a hammer, anything that can puncture a wall. If we can’t find any
tools, we’ll drive back to my house to get some.”

 
“Can we change first? I’d
rather not ruin Sylvie’s dress.”

“Sure.” He kissed the tip of my nose and then we headed upstairs so I
could slip into my old clothes. But more than that, I was eager to bide for
time. If only for a few minutes, or as long as it’d take me to calm my shaking
fingers and racing heart.

It was shortly
after
eight p.m. when we broke through the wall. I had changed into
jeans, a long sleeved shirt and dark blue trainers, and Jett had slipped back
into his jacket. Whoever had put up the wall was in a hurry and went for
drywall instead of bricks and mortar. Jett drilled a tiny hole and expanded it
to several inches so he could peer inside. Although we didn’t find a torch,
there were enough candles in the house. We lit one and holding it up, Jett
pushed his arm through the small opening. I stayed a few steps back, not daring
to look inside, painfully aware that no one would ever hide something if it
wasn’t
terrible.

“It’s okay, baby. Don’t be scared,” Jett whispered, his calm tone making
the shivers running down my spine even worse.

Why the hell did he have to whisper? There was no one in the house and
the sound of his voice echoing from the walls was creepy, creating ice-cold
knots inside my stomach.

“There’s a desk,” Jett said. Did I detect a hint of disappointment?

“A desk?” I asked, trying to look over his shoulder. Why would anyone
build a wall to hide a desk? “Let me see.”

The candle cast enough light to make out a small mahogany desk. No other
furniture.

“Take down the drywall,” I said. According to Jett we had no problems
making a tiny opening because the wall barely measured an inch in width. I had
seen it done before on TV and reckoned if someone could do it, then Jett.

“Are you sure about that? Gypsum is easily broken and makes a huge
mess.”

I nodded. “Just do it. We’ll worry about it later.”

“Hold this.” Jett pushed the burning candle into my hand and then kicked
once right next to the small hole.
And again until the wall
gave in and a chunk of it crumbled to our feet in a heap of debris and dust.
It wasn’t large but big enough for someone petite to squeeze through but
definitely not meant for Jett’s size. His shoulders would barely fit through.

“Let me try,” I said. Of course I didn’t want to go in there alone. But
I was tired, and frankly, I didn’t care. I just wanted to get it over and done
with. And maybe a tiny part of me was eager to impress Jett—after all he
did the hard work.

“Stay here,” Jett said. “You don’t have to do this if you’re
uncomfortable.”

I hated it when people saw me as fragile. My life had never been
cushioned and I wasn’t going to let his overprotectiveness change that now.

“I’m handling this on my own,” I said, ready to argue if need be. Jett
regarded me calmly but didn’t argue. Hysteria bubbled up somewhere at the back
of my throat. I swallowed hard to get rid of it and walked past him. Holding
the candle up to illuminate the way, I squeezed through the opening. My heart
hammered so loud I was sure Jett could hear it.

The room was dark and the air stale, swallowing up the artificial light
falling in through the hole. The candle cast a faint and ghostly glow on the
concrete floor, but it wasn’t enough to reach the dark corners. My heart
hammered harder as my mind began to conjure up images of someone hiding in the
corner, ready to jump out and kill me.
It wasn’t just dark
,
it was dusty and creepy
. I couldn’t wait to get the
hell out of here but not before I brought to fruition what I came to do.

Jett was right. The room had been divided, though not in half. This part
was almost as large as a living room. The desk was set up close to the wall.
There was no chair, no other furniture.

“Brooke, do you see anything?” Jett peered inside.

“Nothing,” I croaked. My mouth was so dry I cleared my throat in the
hope to get rid of the fear choking me.

The candlelight fell on a light switch on the wall to my right. I
switched it on and an overhead neon light bulb flickered a few times. Bathed in
glaring brightness, the room looked like any other. I breathed a sigh of relief
and pressed a hand against my chest to calm my racing heart. But it was hard
because the walls
creeped
me out. With no doors and
no escape route, I felt as though I was trapped in a psychiatric ward.

“Are you okay?” Jett called. He sounded impatient and desperate to jump
into the middle of the action. He was definitely not the kind to watch from a
distance. Struggling, he squeezed through the hole. I motioned him to come in.
He reached me in a few long strides, grinning.

“You’re so stubborn,” I said. “Let’s hope we can get you back outside
unscathed.”

He rubbed his sore shoulder. “Not a good idea, I agree, but I feel
useless standing around and watching you do all the work.”

We inspected the desk together. It was an old thing with Chinese
Chippendale style engravings and a galleried top, brass handles, and two small
stationary cupboards left and right. Apart from a few ridges running across the
otherwise smooth surface, the desk looked in pristine condition and was
probably worth showing to an antique dealer. I ran my fingers over the
horizontal
panel sides and drawer linings.

“It must have been his desk,” Jett said.

“And now it’s left to perish away in the basement?” I asked, watching
Jett test the bottom drawer. It was locked. The second one opened with a slight
scraping sound, revealing pens, a stamp pad and a bottle of ink. The third
drawer contained loose sheets of paper. Jett laid them on the desk and began
skimming through them.

“What’s this?” I held up what looked like business correspondence in
Italian.

“Probably nothing important, but we’ll have them translated nonetheless,”
Jett said. “The bottom drawer’s the only one locked and I doubt we’ll find the
key.”

He motioned for me to step back. I followed his request and almost
jumped in my skin as he turned the desk upside down so he could reach
underneath. It crashed against the floor with a loud thump, the noise echoing
from the walls.

“Sorry.” He flashed me an apologetic smile. I regarded him open-mouthed.
I was never one for violence, not even against antiques.

“I hope you’re not thinking about keeping it.” He pointed at the desk,
grinning.

“I’m not a fan of clutter,” I said, watching him kick the lower drawer
at its weakest spot until it broke.

I held my breath as he retrieved what looked like
a
black
leather bound book the size of my smartphone and began to flick
through the pages.

“What’s in it?” I asked.

“I don’t know. But
Lucazzone’s
probably hiding
it for a reason.” He pushed the book inside his pocket, avoiding my gaze. But I
caught the angry line between his brows. “We’re done here. Let’s finish up.”

Finishing up was easier said than done. How was I supposed to relax with
the knowledge that Alessandro had walled in his office and we had no idea why?
Whatever reason he had, it didn’t make sense to me. If he had a secret, why not
just sell the desk, bury or burn the papers—or whatever he wanted hidden
from the world. The most obvious explanation to me was that he wanted to hang
on to it as evidence.

“I have to make a call,” Jett said as I headed for the bathroom, ready
to wash off the dirt. The warm water relaxed my sore muscles, but it didn’t
help wash off the discovery and the scary new feelings that came with it.

As I returned to the guestroom, my body wrapped in a white bathrobe,
Jett was sitting on my bed, his fingers playing with his phone.

“Any news?” I asked.

“Nobody’s home. I’ll have to try again tomorrow.” He sounded angry.
Frustrated. His gaze was still averted, avoiding me. Something was troubling
him.

Ever since we returned from the basement, he had been distant. Aloft.
Cutting me out from his train of thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” I ran my fingers through his hair, massaging gently.

His hands moved to his pocket and he fished out the black book,
then
pushed it into my hands.

“I’m taking a shower.” No invitation to join him. I sighed and slumped
down on the bed. Maybe he was just tired and taking a shower was his way of
dealing with whatever burdened him, and I accepted that.

I waited until he was gone before opening the black book to page one.
There were five names. Names I didn’t know. Except for one.

I stared at it, paralyzed, the name echoing inside my brain.

Robert Mayfield.

What the heck?

No wonder Jett was upset. His father had confessed to being a part of
Alessandro’s elite club. But maybe Jett had hoped Robert might not be
that
involved?

I stared at the names for a while, wondering why there were so few of
them. I always figured a club involved more than half a dozen people.

“Jett, can I come in?” I knocked on the bathroom door and opened it
without waiting for his answer, then peeked inside. He was standing in front of
the mirror, wearing nothing but his jeans. His dirty t-shirt lay crumpled on
the floor, as though he had kicked it into a messy heap.

“Please.” I shot him a hesitant smile, my gaze begging him to invite me
in—both physically and emotionally. He turned around and opened the door
wider to let me walk past. Taking a deep steadying breath, I decided to be
frank about my thoughts.

 
“You already knew your
father was involved. What difference does it make if his name is in there?”

He sighed. “You’re right, I guess. I was just hoping I wouldn’t find
anything to back up his claims.” He grimaced and ran his hand through his wet
hair, hesitating at the nape of his neck. “My opinion of him has never been a good
one but I always tried my best to remain non-judgmental because he’s my
father.”

“I know.” I inched closer and placed a soft kiss on his shoulder because
it was the highest point I could reach without high-heels.

“He fucked up so many times in his life, I’m not surprised about
anything. I’m just—”

“Disappointed?”

Jett nodded.

“No one’s perfect,” I whispered, even though I knew Jett was very close
to it, which was probably the result of him despising his father’s ways.

 
“If those are the club
members’ names, what are the numbers on the back?” I held out the open book and
pointed at the long strings of digits covering several pages.

“Could be anything. I’ll try to find out tomorrow.” He walked past me
into the bedroom. I followed behind.

“How do you think you’ll find out?”

“I have a friend who knows his way around computers.”