Romans & histoires Cellar 13

Rossi's team had gutted the place. They found the cellar stairs behind the kitchen. Stone steps leading down, air growing colder. Livia's breath fogged as they descended. The wine cellar spread before them—mostly empty racks, a few forgotten bottles, dust coating everything. Alessandro's flashlight swept across the far wall, the one Carlo's thermal scan had flagged. "There." Livia pointed. The mortar between stones looked cleaner than the rest. Newer. "It's fake." Alessandro ran his hands along the edges, searching. His fingers caught on something—a small indentation in the mortar, barely visible.

And one location, scrawled in a corner: “The Red Cellar – Midnight.” I didn’t hesitate. I threw on black jeans, a hoodie, and a pair of boots Kaden once called “cop-proof.” I wasn’t going in as a detective. I was going as Kaden’s sister. The Red Cellar was in Newtown, tucked behind a closed-down wine shop. It looked abandoned. No sign. No lights. But the door wasn’t locked. I walked in, and instantly felt the shift in the air—low music, red lighting, shadows that moved like they had eyes.

She was terrified, but she was stepping into the dark anyway. We had come too far for this to be amistake. We had crossed an ocean of blood for this moment. At the far end of the cellar, behind a rusted iron door that looked like it belonged to an asylum, the server rack stood humming. A dull, predatory blue glow spilled from the indicator lights, casting long, fractured shadows against the weeping stone walls. “There,” Maria whispered. Her voice was thin, brittle as glass.

I really hope they were not close because- I’d just leave it at that. I looked up at Graham “let’s go down there” I said. My eyes were dark and my gums were tingling with my canines threatening to elongate… I had to hold it in for now. Graham nodded “yes” The cellar was dimly lit, damp, and cold—the kind of place that swallowed sound and made men shiver long before fear touched them… some said that it was a nightmare, hell if you’d like to call it.

“Old cannery. Red door. Second building near the water. My father likes it because it has an underground level. Thick walls. No signal inside unless you know where to stand.” My chest tightens. Underground. No signal. Thick walls. Rage moves through me so sharply my vision almost tunnels. Elena. In the cold. In the dark. Possibly underground. My hands curl into fists. Declan’s voice cuts through the room. “I’ve got three matches.” “Show me.” He throws the feed onto the monitor. Grainy satellite images. Street maps. Old property data. Red markers. Three locations. I move closer, eyes scanning. Moretti Storage. Bell Wharf. Harper Cannery. Second building near the water. Red door. Declan zooms

Lunch will be served promptly at noon, in the dining room, next to the kitchen. - Do you have a cellar? – Hector asked. - A huge cellar, Mr. Casanova. After all, you are in one of the biggest wineries in Italy and certainly the biggest in Piedmont. - Thanks for the attention. - I said, letting her go. I closed the door and Hector looked at everything: - Picturesque? Humble? Bizarre? - Different. – I looked around. - I hope the bed is a box, at least. If it's iron, we're fucked.

The only sound is our breathing and the soft drip of water and the occasional scrape of a boot on stone. Eleanor watches the darkness with wide eyes. She does not cry. She does not make a sound. After a long time, Marcus stops. He holds up his hand. There is a door, he whispers. Wood. Old. It leads to the cellar. Is it locked? Julian asks. Marcus tries the handle. It turns. The door opens with a soft creak. He pushes it. The cellar is empty. Dust covers the floor. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling, thick as rope. A single light bulb burns, flickering, casting shadows that dance on the walls.

"It was just dormant." Without another word, Killian led the way toward the arched doorway behind the high table—a narrow, forgotten passage that led into the old foundation cellars where the citadel’s winter grain and cured meats were stored. I pulled a heavy iron torch from the wall bracket, the orange flame dancing wildly against the unnatural, sulfurous draft rising from the depths.

“Tell him thanks when you speak with Dominic, then.” Nate tipped his head and smiled. “Aye. I’ll do that. Now, there should be food in the underground cellar, but we’ll have to go into town to get some fresh meat. Let me get a few things first, and we can do that.” Before heading out to gather wood and water, Nate showed me where the small cellar was located. It was a small trap door situated close to the kitchen side of the cottage. Upon descending the small and tight stairs, I discovered a treasure trove of fresh fruits, vegetables, and herbs, all stored alongside canned goods. The cold was kept inside the cellar by its stone walls, making it a natural refrigerator. I took the opportunity

I eyebrows knitted a bit before she let out a sigh. “I have to take this call. Isabella can you get the wine please? Dad please show her the way.” She stood up before I got the chance to protest, slipping her thumb across the screen of her phone before placing it on her ear and walking away. Then I turned to look at Alexander. “Come with me.” Without as much as another word, I stood up and followed him, my heart beating in my throat. The wine cellar was at the end of a stone corridor, the air cool and damp, the light soft from sconces on the walls. Racks of bottles stretched into shadows, dust thick on the oldest vintages.