“No,” Matteo commanded, his voice carrying the authority of his new position. “She belongs to the family. We find out who helped her.”

He dragged me toward the side door of the dining room.

His grip was so tight it would leave bruises, but he was moving fast, pulling me away from the circle of armed men.

The guards near the door hesitated, looking at Gianni for orders.

Gianni nodded slowly. “Take her down. But I am coming with you.”

We walked out into the cold stone hallway, the door slamming shut behind us.

The air was damp and smelled of old stone and rain.

Matteo kept his hand locked on my arm, his pace quickening as we moved away from the dining room.

“Matteo, I swear to you,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I didn’t do this.”

“Be quiet,” he muttered, his eyes scanning the shadows of the corridor.

He didn’t look at me, but his grip shifted slightly, holding me more gently than before.

We reached the heavy wooden door that led down to the cellars.

Two of Gianni’s personal guards were standing there, their hands on their holsters.