Chapter 6 - THE ROSARY
The cold wind howling down the coal chute suddenly felt like a death sentence.
“They’re waiting for us outside,” Matteo said, his voice hard. He climbed down from the wine rack, picking up his gun. “If we go up that chute, we’re climbing into a firing squad.”
“If we stay down here, they’ll breach the door,” I panicked.
On the monitor, Dominic’s men were already setting a small explosive charge against the heavy steel lock of the cellar door.
“We have two minutes,” Matteo stated.
He looked at me, then at Alessandra bleeding on the crates, and finally at Ava.
“I’m not letting them take her,” Matteo said, his eyes burning with absolute resolve.
He turned to Alessandra. “Can you walk?”
She winced, pressing my blood-soaked apron against her side. “I can manage.”
“Good.” Matteo looked at me. “Sophie, you’re going up the chute with Ava and Alessandra.”
“You just said they’re waiting for us!” I argued.
“They are. But they’re waiting for me to come out first,” Matteo said, quickly checking the magazine of his pistol. “They think I’ll lead the way to protect you. I’m going to open the main door and engage Dominic in the hallway. I’ll draw their fire. While they’re distracted, you push the women up the chute and run for the tree line.”
“No!” Ava cried, grabbing her father’s arm. “They’ll kill you!”
“I am your father,” Matteo said, kneeling down to look his daughter in the eyes. His voice was fierce, filled with a love so deep it made my heart ache. “It is my job to die for you if I have to. You run. You don’t look back. Do you understand?”
Ava sobbed, burying her face in his chest. Matteo held her tightly for one long, agonizing second before pulling away.
He stood up and looked at me.
“Keep her safe, Sophie.”
I didn’t want to agree. I didn’t want to leave him to die. But I looked at Ava, a fourteen-year-old girl terrified in the dark, and I knew what my father would have done.
“I will,” I promised.
Matteo walked to the heavy steel door.
“Get in the chute,” he ordered.
I climbed up the wine rack, pushing the iron grate fully open. Alessandra went first, gritting her teeth against the pain as she crawled into the narrow, sloped brick tunnel. Ava followed, crying silently.
I climbed in last, my boots slipping on the slick, coal-dusted bricks.
I looked back down at Matteo.
He didn’t look back. He grabbed the heavy iron deadbolt of the door.
“Three, two, one,” Matteo counted.
He threw the deadbolt open and kicked the door with all his strength.
The heavy steel door slammed outward, knocking the explosive charge off the lock just seconds before it detonated.
BOOM!
The explosion ripped through the hallway, filling the cellar with thick smoke and the deafening ring of shattered stone.
Matteo charged into the smoke, firing his weapon instantly.
The sounds of brutal, point-blank gunfire echoed up the chute.
“Keep climbing!” I yelled at Ava, pushing her legs forward.
We scrambled up the pitch-black tunnel, the rough bricks tearing at my hands and knees. The smell of rain grew stronger.
Alessandra reached the top and pushed through the heavy wooden flap that opened into the courtyard. She tumbled out into the wet grass. Ava scrambled out next.
I pulled myself over the ledge, collapsing into the freezing mud of the gardens.
The storm was raging, the rain coming down in sheets, hiding the moon.
Matteo had been right. The courtyard wasn't empty.
But because Matteo had attacked the hallway, the men waiting outside were looking back toward the house, confused by the gunfire below.
“This way,” I whispered, grabbing Ava’s hand and helping Alessandra up.
We moved silently through the manicured hedges, using the shadows of the massive oak trees for cover. The estate was massive, but I knew the grounds perfectly. I knew where the security cameras were blind. I knew where the shadows were deepest.
We made it to the edge of the large glass greenhouse near the perimeter wall.
Suddenly, a flashlight beam cut through the rain, sweeping over the hedges just inches from us.
“They went into the gardens!” a gruff voice yelled.
Footsteps splashed heavily through the mud, running straight toward our hiding spot.
I pushed Ava and Alessandra behind a stone fountain.
I peered around the edge.
It was the assassin. The older man in the trench coat.
He was walking slowly, his gun raised, the wooden rosary wrapped tightly around his left fist, swaying slightly as he moved.
He was hunting us. He was hunting me.
I looked around frantically. I had no weapon. No radio. Just the small paring knife in my apron pocket.
He was twenty feet away. Then ten.
He was going to find us.
I looked at the massive glass greenhouse to my left. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, the heavy irrigation system hummed quietly.
I had an idea. It was desperate, but it was all I had.
“Stay here,” I whispered to Alessandra. “Do not move.”
Before she could protest, I stood up from behind the fountain and stepped directly into the assassin’s flashlight beam.
He stopped immediately, raising his gun at my chest.
He didn’t recognize me. To him, I was just a maid in a wet black dress.
“Where is the girl?” he demanded, his voice raspy and cold.
I didn’t answer. I turned and sprinted toward the open door of the greenhouse.
“Stop!” he shouted, firing a shot.
The bullet shattered a pane of glass right next to my head.
I dove through the door into the humid, plant-filled greenhouse. I scrambled behind a row of massive potted ferns.
The assassin walked in after me, his boots crunching on the gravel floor.
“You’re just making this painful for yourself,” he mocked, sweeping his flashlight over the exotic plants.
I crawled quietly to the central control panel on the wall. The irrigation system.
My fingers found the emergency override valve.
I waited until I heard his footsteps right next to the high-pressure water mains.
I pulled the valve hard.
Instantly, the emergency sprinkler system activated, but it didn’t just rain water. The massive industrial hoses on the ceiling blasted out a blinding, high-pressure spray of chemical fertilizer directly into his face.
He screamed, dropping his gun and clawing at his burning eyes.
I didn’t hesitate. I lunged from behind the ferns, grabbing the heavy iron gardening shear from the potting bench.
I swung it with all my might, striking him hard across the temple.
He collapsed to the gravel, unconscious.
I stood over him, my chest heaving, the rain and fertilizer soaking my dress.
I looked at the man who had murdered my father. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to make him pay.
But I wasn’t a killer. I was a protector.
I reached down and pried the wooden rosary from his limp fingers. I shoved it into my pocket.
I grabbed his dropped gun and ran back out into the storm.
Ava and Alessandra were right where I left them.
“We have to get to the garage,” I said, showing them the gun. “We can take one of the cars and crash through the back gate.”
We ran through the rain, slipping in the mud, until we reached the massive, six-car detached garage.
The side door was unlocked. We slipped inside.
The garage was dark, smelling of oil and expensive leather. A row of sleek black SUVs sat silently in the gloom.
“Get in the closest one,” I ordered.
Ava reached for the door handle of a Range Rover.
Suddenly, the harsh overhead fluorescent lights flickered on, blinding us.
“I wouldn’t do that,” a voice echoed.
Standing at the other end of the garage, leaning against a vintage Ferrari, was Dominic DeLuca.
His leg was hastily bandaged, bleeding through his suit pants. He held a gun pointed directly at Ava.
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But it wasn't the gun that made my stomach drop.
Standing next to Dominic, his hands zip-tied in front of him, bleeding heavily from a wound on his forehead, was Matteo.
