Chapter 5 - THE NECKLACE
Hannah stared at the tiny gold square nestled inside the silver locket.
A micro-SD card.
For twenty-four years, she had worn thirty million dollars around her neck. Through abusive foster homes, through evictions, through countless double shifts waiting tables to afford groceries. Her mother had left her the key to an empire, disguised as cheap jewelry.
“Toss it to me,” Dominic ordered, extending his free hand.
Hannah’s fingers tightened around the silver locket.
If she gave it to him, he would kill her. He would kill Sophia. Dominic didn't leave witnesses; he had already proven that by setting a fire when she was six.
“Don’t do it,” a small voice whispered from behind her legs.
Sophia.
The seven-year-old girl was staring at Dominic with her father’s dark, defiant eyes.
Dominic laughed. “Listen to the mafia princess. She thinks bravery matters down here. Toss the necklace, Hannah. Or I put a bullet in the kid’s knee to motivate you.”
Hannah’s blood ran cold.
She slowly unclasped the chain from her neck.
She held the necklace out.
But she didn’t toss it to Dominic.
She held it directly over the heavy iron grate of a floor drain at her feet.
“Shoot,” Hannah said, her voice shaking violently but refusing to break. “Shoot her, and I drop it down the drain. You’ll have to dig up the foundation of the manor to find it.”
Dominic’s smile vanished instantly.
He lowered the gun a fraction of an inch, his eyes darting to the dark grate.
“You drop that, and I will peel your skin off,” Dominic snarled.
“Put the gun on the floor,” Hannah demanded, a strange, desperate courage surging through her veins. It wasn't the courage of a trained killer. It was the courage of a woman who was tired of being stepped on.
Dominic glared at her. He knew she meant it.
Slowly, agonizingly, he bent his knees and placed the suppressed pistol onto the cold concrete floor.
“Kick it away.”
Dominic kicked the gun across the aisle. It spun into the shadows beneath a wine rack.
“Now step back,” Hannah ordered.
Dominic took two steps backward, his hands raised in mock surrender. “You have a lot of fire for a waitress, Clara’s daughter. Just like your mother.”
Hannah didn’t engage. She grabbed Sophia’s hand and backed away slowly, keeping the locket hovering over the grate until she was clear of it.
She turned and sprinted toward the red exit sign at the end of the cellar.
They burst through the heavy metal doors, spilling out into the freezing night air of the estate’s massive underground garage.
The storm was raging outside. Rain lashed against the concrete walls.
Hannah frantically scanned the garage.
A massive, armored black SUV was idling near the exit ramp. The driver’s side door was wide open.
Lying on the ground next to it, bleeding heavily from a wound on his temple, was Marcus.
“Marcus!” Hannah cried, running over and dropping to her knees.
The massive security chief groaned, his eyes fluttering open. “Get… get in the car,” he wheezed. “Armor is… bulletproof.”
Hannah shoved Sophia into the backseat. “Lock the doors, sweetie. Don’t open them for anyone.”
She grabbed Marcus’s arm, struggling to pull his immense weight upward. “Come on! You have to help me!”
Suddenly, the heavy metal doors of the cellar burst open behind them.
Dominic stepped into the garage. He hadn’t bothered looking for his gun in the dark cellar. He had grabbed a heavy iron crowbar from a tool rack on his way out.
“You think you can drive that thing, Hannah?” Dominic mocked, walking slowly toward them. “It requires biometric clearance. Only Vincent and Marcus can start it.”
Hannah looked at the dashboard. A red thumbprint scanner glowed menacingly.
She dragged Marcus toward the open driver's door, desperate to get his thumb on the scanner.
But Marcus’s eyes rolled back. He went limp, completely unconscious.
Dominic raised the crowbar, closing the distance.
Hannah panicked. She dropped Marcus gently to the floor and climbed into the driver’s seat herself.
She slammed the heavy armored door shut, locking it just as Dominic swung the crowbar.
CLANG!
The iron bar slammed against the bulletproof glass of the driver’s window. The glass didn’t shatter, but a violent spiderweb crack bloomed across it.
“Open the door!” Dominic roared, raising the crowbar again.
CLANG!
Hannah flinched, covering her ears.
She looked frantically around the cab of the SUV. There had to be a manual override. A key. Something.
Her eyes fell on the center console.
Sitting in the cup holder was a pair of heavy leather driving gloves.
Vincent’s gloves.
She grabbed the right glove. She could feel something hard inside one of the fingers.
She quickly pulled the glove inside out.
A molded silicone fingerprint fell into her lap.
Vincent, a man with a thousand enemies, didn’t rely solely on his own biology in an emergency. He kept a master override print hidden in plain sight.
Hannah grabbed the silicone print and slapped it onto the red scanner.
The scanner flashed green.
The massive V8 engine roared to life with a deafening growl.
Dominic swung the crowbar a third time, striking the windshield directly in front of Hannah’s face. The glass groaned, the cracks widening dangerously.
He wasn’t trying to break in. He was trying to blind her so she couldn’t drive.
Hannah didn’t look for the gearshift. She slammed her foot on the brake, grabbed the column shifter, and threw it into Drive.
She slammed the accelerator to the floor.
The heavy, three-ton armored SUV surged forward.
Dominic scrambled out of the way just in time, diving onto the concrete as the massive vehicle roared past him.
Hannah steered wildly up the exit ramp, bursting through the wooden garage doors and out into the torrential rain of the estate grounds.
The headlights cut through the storm, illuminating the long, winding driveway toward the main gates.
“We did it!” Sophia cheered from the backseat, clapping her small hands.
Hannah let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the leather steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white.
But the relief was shattered a second later.
A massive spotlight clicked on from the roof of the manor behind them. It swept across the grounds, locking onto the fleeing SUV.
And then, the sound of heavy machine gun fire erupted over the storm.
Bullets hammered against the armored plating of the SUV like terrifying hail. The armor held, but the impact sent the vehicle swerving wildly across the wet grass.
“Get down on the floor, Sophia! Cover your ears!” Hannah screamed.
She fought the steering wheel, trying to keep the car on the driveway.
Suddenly, her cell phone—still in the pocket of her waitress uniform beneath the oversized coat—began to ring.
She didn't know who was calling. Nobody had this number except her landlord.
She frantically pulled it out and hit speakerphone, tossing it onto the passenger seat.
“Hello?!” she yelled over the gunfire.
“Hannah. It’s Vincent.”
His voice was ragged, breathing heavily. He was alive.
“Vincent! They’re shooting at us! We’re heading for the main gates!”
“Do not go to the main gates!” Vincent barked over the phone. “Dominic’s men have barricaded it with concrete blocks. If you hit it, the car will flip, and they will execute you.”
Hannah slammed on the brakes, the SUV skidding on the wet asphalt.
“Then where do I go?!” she panicked.
“The cliff,” Vincent said.
Hannah stared at the road ahead. Beyond the manicured lawns was a sheer, fifty-foot drop into the raging waters of Lake Michigan.
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“Are you insane?” Hannah cried. “I have your daughter in the car!”
“Trust me, Hannah,” Vincent’s voice broke with a terrifying, raw emotion. “There is a ticket inside the glovebox. Take it. Put your foot on the gas and drive off the cliff.”
