Conquer Your Love

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.



Chapter 20



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.