Page 80 of Deceitful Oath

As terrified as I was, I knew I had to break into that room. If I could save someone’s life, it would all be worth it. I step up to the keypad, studying it closely. Four rows of numbers on a simple plastic facing with a tiny screen above them. Nothing fancy, no fingerprint scanner or additional buttons.

I trace my finger over the screen, and it lights up, showing four X’s.

Okay, it must be a four-digit code. But that still leaves millions and millions of possible combinations.

I tap my finger on my chin, thinking back to any numbers Rafael might have mentioned. An idea strikes me, and I type in 2-9-1-7, Rafael’s elevator code to access the penthouse. The screen flashes three times and resets to the X’s. I try to the opposite, 7-1-9-2, the code to access the rooftop gym and pool.Wrong again.

For a second, I wonder if it functions like an iPhone. If I try again and get it wrong, will I get locked out? Will it alert Rafael that someone’s trying to break in? This train of thought throws me into a panic, and I hastily hang the painting back up and put some distance between myself and the door. I pick upPride and Prejudiceagain and wander over to a green velvet armchair.

I slip into it and crack the book open, forcing myself to focus on the words. For the next hour, I play this little game withmyself, pretending to read while simultaneously thinking up four-digit codes in my head.

I struggle to control my attention until I finally give up and stand. My body feels like it’s possessed as I float to the door again and remove the painting.

An hour has gone by and Rafael hasn’t called me to lecture me for trying to break into his hidden room, so I assume it doesn’t have an alert system. I shake my head at myself as I activate the screen again.

This is going to lead to bad luck for sure, but at least I’m distracted from my problems.

If I had a secret room with a keypad, what numbers would I use? Probably something highly personal and important to me.

My eyes widen as inspiration strikes. I slowly type in 1-2-2-4.Christmas Eve. Rafael’s mother’s birthday.He had mentioned it offhand, while telling me a story about her. My breath catches as the screen beeps once and the door unlatches softly.

I press my ear to the thin gap, listening for sounds of people being tortured or trained guards coming at me with machine guns. Silence stretches around me, convincing me to pull the door open.

I peek into the dark room and sweep my eyes across a giant wall of screens. A seating area with a low leather sofa flanked by two armchairs faces the screens.

Soft light spills across the room from a single floor lamp, positioned near the sofa. My hand feels around for an overhead light so I can properly take in the room, but I can’t find anything.A secret movie theater room? That’s what’s behind the door?

Terrified to get accidentally locked in, I prop the painting against the door and wander inside. After my imagination had gone so insane with images of dead bodies or stacks of weapons, a movie theater room is almost…wholesome.

I plop down on the sofa and find a remote control stuck in between the cushions.

The fact that it’s a bunch of smaller screens instead of a large theater-style screen is a bit odd, but maybe that’s how rich people watch movies.

I press the power button and watch with bated breath as a patchwork of scenes fills the screen. Five rows of five, twenty-five screens in total. At first, I’m confused, leaning closer to figure out what the heck I’m seeing here.

When I spot The Beanery, the coffee shop where I first met Enzo, I realize I’m staring at security footage. My gaze trails hungrily across the screens, spotting familiar sights across the city.The Velvet Room. Rocky’s Cafe.

My breath catches in my throat as my heart pounds, rattling harder and louder in my chest.

No, there’s no way.I keep scanning, and let out a sigh of relief when I don’t see my building.Of course, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t install security cameras to spy on me.

Just as the thought forms, the screens change—a new of set of twenty-five scenes for my viewing pleasure.

I gasp as large red letters flash across the screen: ALERT. Sweat breaks out across my forehead as I grapple for the remote control, convinced I pressed something to break the system. Suddenly, a familiar sight fills the screen.

My apartment. The INSIDE of my apartment. And it’s not empty.

I squint, trying to figure out what’s happening. A tall, dark figure moves from my front door into my living room.

A light switches on.

Vince’s face comes into view.

He looks directly at the camera and smiles.

Chapter Thirty-One

Rafael