Chapter 4 - THE STOLEN HOUSE KEY
My breath caught in my throat.
Thorne took a slow step into the bedroom, the heavy blade gleaming under the chandelier light.
“Miss Hale thought you might go snooping,” he grunted. “Hand it over.”
I gripped the brass key tightly in my fist. If Victoria’s men had the key to Margaret’s house, it meant they hadn't just visited her—they had broken in. They were planning to go back.
“Gabriel is downstairs,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “If you hurt me, you won’t make it to the gates.”
Thorne chuckled. “Mr. Vescari is a little busy right now.”
He lunged.
I threw Victoria’s heavy suitcase directly at his legs.
Thorne stumbled, cursing loudly as the luggage crashed into his shins. I didn't wait. I sprinted toward the adjoining bathroom, slammed the heavy oak door shut, and threw the deadbolt just as his massive weight slammed against the wood.
The door splintered.
“Open it!” he roared.
I backed away, scanning the marble bathroom for a weapon, a phone, anything.
My eyes landed on the laundry chute.
It was a narrow brass door set into the wall, leading straight down to the basement laundry room. I couldn’t fit inside, but the key could.
CRACK.
The blade of Thorne’s knife broke through the center of the door.
Without thinking, I opened the chute, dropped the brass key down into the darkness, and listened to it rattle away.
The bathroom door finally gave way. Thorne burst in, grabbing me by the hair and slamming me against the marble vanity.
“Where is it?” he demanded, his breath hot on my face.
“I dropped it down the chute,” I gasped. “It’s gone.”
He raised his hand to strike me—
Suddenly, a deafening gunshot rang out, shattering the bathroom mirror.
Thorne froze, slowly turning around.
Gabriel stood in the doorway, his weapon smoking, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying rage.
“Take your hands off my staff,” Gabriel said.
Thorne slowly raised his hands and stepped back.
Gabriel didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in two strides and struck Thorne across the jaw with the heavy steel grip of his gun. The massive bodyguard collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Gabriel immediately turned to me, his hands gently gripping my shoulders.
“Are you hurt, Claire?”
“No,” I breathed, shaking violently. “I’m okay. Gabriel, he had a key to Margaret’s house. Victoria’s father—he’s planning to go back there.”
Gabriel’s expression darkened. “They’re looking for the ledger. The numbers in the ring point to a safety deposit box, but you need a physical master key to open it.”
We hurried downstairs. Margaret was sitting quietly in the parlor, a cup of tea in her hands, surrounded by four of Gabriel’s armed guards.
Victoria was gone.
“She ran,” Margaret said softly. “While your men were securing the perimeter.”
Gabriel knelt beside the old woman. “Margie, they have a key to your house. Did my mother give you anything else before she died? Something that looked like a bank key?”
Margaret shook her head slowly. “No, sweetheart. She only gave me the ring. But…”
She reached into her worn purse again.
“When they broke into my house last week, they tore the place apart. But they didn’t find this.”
Margaret pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper.
It was a child’s crayon drawing. A picture of a house, a dog, and a woman holding a boy's hand.
“You drew this for her when you were six,” Margaret smiled.
Gabriel stared at the drawing, confused. “Why did you keep this?”
Margaret flipped the drawing over.
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On the back, written in Gabriel’s mother’s elegant handwriting, were five words:
“Trust the woman with the rose.”
