“Anything?” Kayden asks.

I shake my head and look up at him. “No, but you just said my memory is not working right. Maybe it’s not. I mean, Niccolo is hunting me.”

“I’m not convinced it’s because you tried to kill him.”

“Then why would he be chasing me?” I ask.

“That’s what we need to find out.”

“What if ‘he’ was someone close to Niccolo?”

“We’ll go through pictures of everyone close to him once we’re at my place.”

“Go home with you?” I say. “Are you crazy? You have to see that I can’t do that now. I have to go underground.”

“Gallo won’t leave this alone if you do. He’ll chase you down and document it all.”

“I can call him. I’ll convince him I’m fine.”

“He won’t settle for a phone call that could be coerced. Even seeing you in person, he’s going to check every piece of your puzzle. You need to hide in plain sight, exactly where no one will expect Ella to be. And you do it with me.”

“Adriel could have died instead of those men. Anyone around me is in danger.”

“They have to find you first, and obviously I don’t believe that’s going to happen.” He stands and takes me with him. “Let’s give Matteo his house back and go to mine.”

“You’re sure I shouldn’t go underground?”

“I never say anything I’m not sure of.” He reaches down and laces his fingers with mine and starts walking toward the door, and I let him for one reason and one reason only: if he’s wrong, we’re both dead. I can’t think of any agenda he could have that makes that work for him.

An hour later, Kayden and I are in the Rolls-Royce again, and he pulls us out of the garage, into a downpour. “I can’t believe it’s still raining like this,” I say, watching the splatter hit the front window over and over.

“Be glad it is,” he says, cutting onto a narrow road I assume leads to one that’s more drivable. “Because I promise you, the weather made the search for you a little less aggressive and bought us some time.” He motions to the file. “Test time. Full name?”

“Rae Eleana Ward,” I answer as he turns onto yet another narrow road.

“Birthday?”

“July 20, 1988,” I answer, and suck in a breath as he maneuvers the car around a corner and onto a path so narrow I am certain we’re going to crash. “Holy crap,” I say, grabbing the door handle. “Are all the streets this narrow?”

“Most of them, yes.” He cuts me a sideways look. “Makes you appreciate my motorcycle a little more now, doesn’t it?”

“I’d rather walk, thank you.”

“Motorcycles are fast and efficient. You’ll get used to riding them.”

“No,” I say, a thought hitting me. “I can’t get used to anything. My passport is only good for ninety days.”

“I have a plan,” he says. “I always have a plan.”

“Matteo?”

“Yes. Matteo.”

We take another crazy narrow turn and I cover my eyes. “Yep. Walking for me.”

“Walking’s certainly popular here. In fact, you can’t drive in certain neighborhoods, this one included, unless you live in the area and have approved plates.”

“What neighborhood is this?”

“It’s called Trastevere, and thanks to several American colleges in the area, it has a large population of English speakers.”

“I’m relieved to know I’m not such an outsider here. Do people speak English near your house?”

“It’s not as English-friendly as Trastevere, but it’s close. And we’re here.” He cuts into a driveway, and I gape at the towering structure in front of me, two steps barely visible in the midst of the rapidly falling rain.

“Kayden. It’s a castle.”

“This area is largely medieval, but yes. It’s a castle, and it has one of the few garages in the neighborhood.” He hits a button and a door begins to rise.

“I can’t imagine living in a castle,” I say. “Is it remodeled like Matteo’s place?”

He makes a disgusted sound and pulls out of the storm to drive down a ramp. “I wouldn’t destroy history the way Matteo has in a place that was once a work of art. I’ve done some restoration work, but made an effort to keep the original architecture in place.”

“How long have you lived here?” I ask. The garage is big enough to hold a mini car lot inside, and from what I can tell from the rows of sport vehicles and motorcycles, it does. He hits the button to seal us inside and kills the engine. “I inherited the castle five years ago.”

Inherited. The meaning of that word is unmistakable. Someone died, and some part of me aches with a hurt that runs deeper than the moment. I cut him a look to find him resting his wrist on the steering wheel, staring ahead. “Are you alone, like me?”

“Not like you,” he says, still not looking at me, his body rigid, like his voice. “No one I’ve lost is coming back.”

My gut twists into knots, and I look away, wondering about the family I may have lost. No. I have lost. “Mine are gone, too,” I say, my voice cracking with the admission.

“You don’t know that,” he says, and our heads turn at the same time, gazes colliding.

“I do. I just wish I had their memories to hold onto.”

“Memories are the enemies that never die,” he says, turning away and shoving open his door, leaving me with the pain carved in those words that I am fairly certain he didn’t want me to hear. But I did, and they speak to me, diving deep in my soul with the blood of my own loss, and taking root. I say I want my memories back, but I’m not so sure I really do. It’s an idea I reject as I shove open my door and stand.

Kayden is already at my side of the car, and I face him, the door between us. “If the memories die, so does everyone we loved. That might be okay with you, but it’s not to me.”

His jaw tics, but he offers me no agreement or disagreement, a wall firmly placed in between us as he says, “Let’s go inside.”

I step around the door, letting him shut it, my gaze scanning the four motorcycles to my right, and beyond them three cars with Jaguar logos. “Do you have a thing for Jaguars, or just cars in general?”

“Just the Jaguar F-TYPE, but I won’t turn down anything else that catches my eye.”

My attention shifts to a sleek, shiny blue sports car directly in front of the Rolls-Royce. And I walk toward it, stopping by the passenger’s door to examine the curve of the hood. Kayden steps to my side and I glance up at him. “How rich are you?”

“I inherited a substantial amount of money and I have my own.”

“Translation. You’re so crazy rich it’s almost dirty.”

He laughs, his eyes flashing with wicked heat. “I like everything a little dirty.”

I blush, having no doubt that’s true, and refocus on the fancy vehicle in front of us. “This isn’t a Jag, right? It’s a race car?”

“It’s a Pagani Zonda, and yes, it’s designed for the racetrack. They only make twenty to twenty-five a year.”

“Do I even want to know how much something like this costs?”

“A million dollars, give or take, but in my case, it was a gift for a job well done.”

I whirl around to face him. “What do you do to earn a car like this?”

“The client wanted to pay me in cash but I wanted the car. That was my price to do the job.”

I do not miss the way he’s dodged my direct question and I try again. “Price for what, Kayden? What do you do?”

“I work for a group called The Underground. We call ourselves Treasure Hunters. If the price is right, and in this case the car was the right price, we find just about anything for our clients.”

I remember the tattoo on Matteo’s arm that matches Kayden’s. “Does Matteo work for them, too?”

“Yes.”

“What about Nathan?”

“No.”

I dare to reach for his arm and study his tattoos, confirming that the one on his wrist is a square with a king chess piece inside. I glance up at him. “Matteo has this too.”

“Everyone in the Italian division of The Underground has it.”