Chapter 8 - THE FIRE ALARM
I pushed Sarah, Leo, and Florence down the narrow wooden stairs.
Above us, the muffled sounds of shouting and breaking glass echoed through the floorboards.
Sebastian was up there fighting Dominic’s men alone.
“Hurry,” I hissed, fumbling in the dark.
We reached the basement. It was a massive, concrete labyrinth filled with old wine racks and discarded furniture.
I found the heavy steel door to the old storm shelter and shoved it open.
“Get inside,” I told my sister.
Florence stopped at the threshold.
She looked at me, her old eyes shining in the dim light of the emergency exit sign.
“Grace, you have to help him.”
“I have to protect my family!” I argued, pushing her gently inside.
“You are his family!” Florence cried out. “Don't you see? The Vitale bloodline doesn't belong to the ruthless. It belongs to those who protect.”
I looked down at the heavy black gun in my hands.
I had never fired a weapon in my life.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the top of the basement stairs.
The door burst open.
A flashlight beam pierced the darkness, scanning the basement.
“They went down here!” a man yelled.
It was one of Dominic’s guards.
I slammed the steel door shut, locking Sarah, Leo, and Florence safely inside.
I pressed my back against the cold concrete wall, holding my breath.
Heavy boots clomped down the wooden steps.
“Come out, maid,” the man taunted. “Make this easy.”
My hands shook. I couldn't shoot him. I couldn't take a life.
But I was the housekeeper. I knew this basement.
I crept along the wall until my hand brushed the cold metal of the breaker box.
I didn't reach for the lights.
I reached for the main water valve for the estate's fire suppression system.
I grabbed the heavy red wheel and cranked it violently to the left.
Alarms shrieked instantly.
Thousands of gallons of high-pressure water exploded from the ceiling sprinklers.
The guard shouted in surprise, dropping his flashlight as the torrential downpour blinded him.
In the chaos, I stepped out from the shadows.
I didn't shoot. I swung the heavy butt of the gun directly into the side of his head.
He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
I stood there, gasping, soaked to the bone.
Before I could move, the lights flickered back on.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs was Bianca.
She wasn't holding a gun.
She was holding a small, silver gasoline canister.
May you like
And a lighter.
“You ruined my wedding,” she sneered.
