Chapter 7
We moved through the shadows of the estate like ghosts.
Luca led the way, his movements precise and silent. For a man who wore tailored suits and sat in boardrooms, he moved with the lethal grace of a soldier.
We slipped through the cellar doors, navigating the damp, wine-scented corridors beneath the mansion.
"The main staircase is too exposed," Luca whispered, pausing by a heavy oak door that led up to the servant's hallway. "We take the back stairs. The power breaker is in the kitchen."
"You want to cut the lights?" I asked.
"Arthur’s men have the tactical advantage as long as they can see the hostages," Luca explained. "If it goes dark, they'll panic. But we know this house."
I nodded.
We crept up the wooden stairs. The kitchen was empty, the extravagant engagement dinner abandoned halfway through prep. Pots of water had boiled dry on the industrial stoves.
Luca moved to the large gray electrical panel on the far wall. He opened it, his fingers hovering over the main breaker.
He looked at me. "When it goes dark, stay behind the center island. Do not move. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Hannah," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "I mean it. If anything happens to you, I..." He stopped, swallowing hard. "Just stay down."
He pulled the lever.
The mansion plunged into absolute, suffocating blackness.
Instantly, screams erupted from the dining room down the hall.
"Hey! What the hell happened?" a rough voice shouted.
"Get the flashlights! Watch the old woman!"
Luca moved instantly. He slipped out of the kitchen, melting into the dark hallway.
I crouched behind the marble kitchen island, my heart hammering against my ribs. The cold marble pressed against my back.
Gunfire shattered the silence.
Pop. Pop.
Suppressor fire. Luca’s gun.
A heavy thud echoed from the hallway, followed by someone cursing in Italian.
Suddenly, the kitchen service door burst open.
A beam of a flashlight swept frantically across the stainless steel appliances. It was one of Arthur’s men.
"Check the breaker!" a voice yelled from the hall.
The man moved toward the panel, his flashlight bouncing. He was ten feet away from me. If he turned his head slightly to the right, the beam would hit me.
I held my breath, pressing my hands over my mouth.
The man reached the breaker panel. He raised his hand to flip the lever.
I couldn't let him turn the lights back on. Luca would be exposed in the hallway.
Without thinking, I grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet resting on the bottom shelf of the island.
I stood up and swung with everything I had.
The heavy iron connected with the back of the man’s knee.
He roared in pain, his leg buckling. He collapsed onto the floor, the flashlight rolling wildly across the tiles.
Before he could raise his rifle, I brought the skillet down on the back of his head.
The man went limp.
I dropped the pan, gasping for air, my hands shaking violently.
I had just assaulted an armed mercenary.
Suddenly, a pair of strong hands grabbed my shoulders from behind. I screamed, trying to pull away, but the grip was unbreakable.
"Shh! It's me."
It was Luca.
He spun me around, pulling me flush against his chest. I could feel his heart pounding just as fast as mine.
"I told you to stay down," he breathed, his voice laced with terror and relief.
"He was going to turn on the lights," I whispered, burying my face in his torn shirt.
Luca looked down at the unconscious man, then back at me. He let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. "Remind me never to cross you in the kitchen."
He stepped back, grabbing the dropped flashlight and turning it off.
"I cleared the hallway," Luca said quietly. "There’s only one guard left inside the dining room with Vanessa and my mother. The guests are hiding under the tables."
"Where is Arthur?"
Before Luca could answer, the lights violently flickered back on.
We both squinted against the sudden brightness.
Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding the main breaker switch up with one hand, was Arthur.
May you like
In his other hand, he held his suppressed pistol, pressed directly against the temple of Teresa Moretti.
"Drop the gun, Luca," Arthur said pleasantly. "Or your mother’s brains will decorate the refrigerator."
