Chapter 7 - THE STOLEN REVOLVER
I grabbed Sofia by the shoulders and threw us both behind the heavy oak desk just as the chaos erupted.
Marcus didn’t dive for cover.
Instead, he lunged forward, moving with a speed that defied his bulky frame. He didn't go for the men with the rifles.
He went straight for Vincenzo.
Before the old man could react, Marcus tackled him hard from behind, driving them both into the hallway.
The gunmen yelled, pivoting their rifles toward the door.
That was their mistake. They took their eyes off Gabriel.
Gabriel swept the leg of the man closest to him, sending the gunman crashing to the floor. In a blur of motion, Gabriel pinned the man's arm, snapped his wrist, and ripped the rifle from his grip.
He didn’t hesitate. He fired two controlled bursts.
The second and third gunmen dropped before they even knew what hit them.
The room smelled instantly of sulfur and copper.
“Rachel! Stay down!” Gabriel shouted, tossing the rifle aside and sprinting toward the hallway.
I held Sofia so tightly she squeaked. I covered her ears, pressing her face into my chest so she wouldn't see the blood pooling on the Persian rug.
Out in the hallway, the sound of a brutal struggle echoed. Flesh hitting bone. Grunts of pain.
I peeked around the edge of the desk.
Marcus had Vincenzo pinned against the wall. Vincenzo’s tuxedo was torn, his face bloodied. But the old man was fighting with a desperate, wiry strength.
He reached behind his back, his fingers closing around the silver revolver in his waistband.
“Gabriel!” I screamed.
Gabriel reached the hallway just as Vincenzo pulled the gun free.
Time seemed to slow down.
Vincenzo didn’t aim at Marcus. He aimed point-blank at Gabriel’s chest.
“Die like your father,” Vincenzo spat.
He pulled the trigger.
Click.
The gun didn’t fire.
Vincenzo’s eyes widened in shock. He pulled the trigger again.
Click.
Empty.
Marcus ripped the gun from Vincenzo’s hand and slammed his fist into the old man’s jaw. Vincenzo collapsed in a heap, unconscious.
Gabriel stood there, breathing heavily, staring at the empty revolver on the floor.
He looked at Marcus. “How did you know it was unloaded?”
Marcus wiped the blood from his mouth, pulling a handful of heavy silver bullets from his own jacket pocket. They clinked as he tossed them onto the floor.
“I unloaded it ten minutes ago in the dining room when the blast went off and he bumped into me,” Marcus said, grinning weakly. “Pickpocketing. A skill from my youth.”
The immediate threat was over.
Gabriel sagged against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. He put his head in his hands.
It was over. The man who killed his father, the man who ordered his wife’s death, was defeated.
I slowly stood up, keeping Sofia behind me. We walked out into the hallway.
Gabriel looked up. He reached his arms out.
Sofia ran to him, burying her face in his neck, sobbing uncontrollably. Gabriel held her, rocking her back and forth, tears finally streaming down his own face.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You’re safe now. I promise.”
I watched them, a profound sense of relief washing over me.
But as I looked at Vincenzo’s unconscious body, I noticed something glinting on his wrist.
The silver watch.
I remembered Sofia’s drawing. The shiny watch pushing Elena.
I stepped closer to Vincenzo. I knelt down and pulled his sleeve up slightly to get a better look at it.
It was a beautiful, intricate timepiece. But the face of the watch was odd.
It didn’t have a standard winding dial on the side. It had a small, recessed keyhole.
I frowned.
I looked at Gabriel. “Gabriel. Your heirloom watch. The one you wear every day. Does it look like this?”
Gabriel looked up, confused by the question. He checked his own wrist. “No. Mine is different. Why?”
I stared at the keyhole on Vincenzo’s watch.
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“Because this isn’t just a watch,” I realized. “It’s a lock.”
And I suddenly knew exactly what it opened.
