Chapter 11 - THE COAT OF THE ASSASSIN
“I am not a maid,” I said, my voice eerily steady despite the absolute terror coursing through my veins. “I am the Lady of this house. And you will not touch my son.”
Carmine let out a delighted, musical laugh, setting her scotch glass down on the marble counter.
“My, my. Luca certainly picked a fighter,” Carmine smiled, her cold, reptilian eyes assessing me. “Vanessa would have been screaming and begging on her knees by now. You, on the other hand, look like you’re trying to calculate the distance between yourself and the carving knife block behind me.”
She was right. I had been staring at the massive wooden knife block resting three feet from her elbow.
“Don't bother,” Carmine sighed, waving a manicured hand. The two massive men behind her instantly raised their submachine guns, aiming them squarely at my chest.
“How did you get in here?” I demanded, keeping my eyes locked on hers. “There are thirty armed guards outside.”
“I used the old bootlegger tunnels beneath the wine cellar,” Carmine answered casually. “Silvio built them during Prohibition. He was kind enough to share the blueprints with me before his tragic demise. Luca may own the house, but Silvio knew its bones.”
She stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from her immaculate white suit.
“Now, Hannah. I am a reasonable businesswoman. Vanessa owed me twenty million. She is dead. Luca refused to give me his shipping routes tonight at the church. Therefore, I am taking Gabriel to a secure location until Luca changes his mind. Go upstairs and get him. If you scream, my men will shoot you, and I will drag the boy out of his bed myself.”
I stood frozen in the doorway of the kitchen.
Gabriel was asleep on the third floor. If I ran, they would shoot me in the back. If I fought, I would die, and they would take him anyway.
But I had lived in this house for three years. I knew its routines. I knew its secrets. And more importantly, I knew Daniel Hayes.
When Daniel was head of security, he used to let me watch him run drills with Gabriel. Daniel taught his son exactly what to do if the mansion was ever breached.
If bad men ever come, you don't run to the door, Gabriel. You run to the laundry chute.
“I’ll get him,” I whispered, feigning complete defeat. I lowered my head, letting a few tears fall to sell the performance.
Carmine smiled triumphantly. “Smart girl. We’ll follow right behind you.”
I turned and walked slowly out of the kitchen, leading Carmine and her two gunmen up the grand staircase. My mind was racing a million miles an hour.
We reached the second-floor landing.
Instead of turning left toward the main bedrooms, I deliberately turned right, toward the servant’s quarters.
“Where are you going?” Carmine asked sharply, stopping at the top of the stairs. “The master suites are the other way.”
“Gabriel doesn't sleep in the master wing,” I lied smoothly, not breaking stride. “Luca thought it was too big for a nine-year-old. He sleeps in my old maid’s room. It makes him feel safe.”
Carmine bought it. She gestured for her men to follow me down the narrow, dimly lit servant’s hallway.
We reached the door to my old bedroom.
I placed my hand on the doorknob.
“He’s a heavy sleeper,” I whispered, looking back at the two massive gunmen standing right behind me. “Please don't point those guns at him. He’s already traumatized.”
“Just open the door, Hannah,” Carmine snapped, losing her patience.
I pushed the door open. The room was pitch black.
I stepped inside, flipping the light switch on.
The room was completely empty.
“Where is he?!” Carmine demanded, pushing past me into the small bedroom.
I didn't answer her.
I spun around, grabbed the heavy iron ironing board leaning against the wall beside the door, and swung it with all my strength directly into the face of the first gunman.
The heavy metal connected with a sickening crunch. The man roared in pain, dropping his submachine gun and clutching his broken nose.
The second gunman raised his weapon, but the narrow doorway restricted his movement.
I didn't hesitate. I dove past him, out of the bedroom, and sprinted down the narrow hallway toward the main laundry room at the end of the corridor.
“Kill her!” Carmine shrieked from inside the bedroom.
Automatic gunfire erupted behind me, shredding the drywall and shattering the antique vases lining the hallway. I threw myself into the laundry room, slamming the heavy wooden door shut and locking the deadbolt.
Bullets immediately began chewing through the wood of the door.
I scrambled across the tile floor toward the massive stainless-steel laundry chute built into the wall. It was designed to drop heavy bags of linens directly into the basement utility room.
I pulled the metal latch open, took a deep breath, and threw myself into the dark metal tube headfirst.
I slid down in absolute darkness, the metal rushing past me, until I hit the pile of soft laundry bags in the basement with a heavy thud.
I rolled off the bags, instantly springing to my feet in the dark utility room.
I ran to the main breaker box on the wall.
With one swift motion, I pulled the massive red lever, cutting the main power to the entire mansion.
The estate was plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.
“Elias!” I screamed into the darkness, knowing the guards outside would realize something was wrong when the lights died.
Upstairs, I heard Carmine’s men shouting in confusion. They had night vision, but they didn't know the layout of the servant tunnels.
I didn't wait. I grabbed a heavy iron fire poker from the basement hearth and ran toward the secret bootlegger tunnels Carmine had used to enter the house.
If they were trapped in the dark, their only escape route was back the way they came.
I crouched in the shadows near the entrance of the brick tunnel, gripping the fire poker so tightly my knuckles turned white.
A few minutes later, the beam of a tactical flashlight cut through the darkness of the basement stairs.
Carmine was hurrying down the steps, cursing violently, flanked by her two bruised and bloody gunmen.
“Forget the boy!” Carmine hissed. “The exterior guards are breaching the front doors! Get me out through the tunnels!”
They rushed toward the brick archway where I was hiding.
As the first gunman stepped into the tunnel, I swung the heavy iron fire poker at his kneecap.
He screamed, collapsing to the floor.
The second gunman spun toward me, raising his weapon, but before he could fire, a blinding spotlight illuminated the basement.
“DROP IT!”
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A dozen heavily armed Moretti guards poured down the stairs, their laser sights painting Carmine and her remaining man with red dots.
And walking calmly down the steps, wearing his Kevlar vest and a look of absolute, lethal fury, was Luca.
