Chapter 3 - Shadows of the Estate"Hold on!" Lorenzo roared.
He grabbed me by the waist, slamming my back against his chest and pinning us both into the corner of the elevator cab just as the steel cables above snapped with a deafening SNAP-CRACK!
The elevator plummeted into freefall.
Wind roared through the shaft. Caldwell screamed in sheer terror, his body lifting off the floor as gravity momentarily vanished. Lorenzo’s arms wrapped around me like steel bands, protecting my head with his chest.
CLANG-THUD!
The emergency magnetic brakes slammed onto the guide rails with a gut-wrenching screech of tearing metal and blinding yellow sparks. The elevator lurched violently, stopping just six feet above the sub-basement level.
Caldwell crashed onto the floor, unconscious from hitting his head against the handrail.
Through the smoke and smell of burning friction pads, Lorenzo looked down at me. Our faces were inches apart. I could feel the intense beat of his heart against my ribs—the same heart that had been dead an hour ago.
"Are you hurt, Clara?" he asked, his hands rapidly checking my arms and shoulders for injuries.
"I'm fine," I breathed, my heart hammering against my chest. "What about you?"
"I'm alive. Thanks to you." His dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "Now, stay behind me."
Lorenzo kicked open the roof hatch of the elevator. With incredible physical strength that defied the paralytic toxin still in his bloodstream, he hauled himself up onto the top of the cab, then reached down and pulled me up effortlessly.
We were in the elevator shaft. Ten feet above us was the service door to the 2nd floor—the private armory.
"Caldwell?" I asked, looking down into the dark cab.
"He's useless now," Lorenzo said coldly. "He chose his side."
We climbed the steel maintenance ladder. Lorenzo used a pocket knife extracted from his pants to pop the emergency latch on the 2nd-floor doors. We slipped into the dimly lit, carpeted hallway of the West Wing.
This was the private heart of the Moretti estate. Expensive oil paintings lined the walls, but the air was thick with tension. In thirty minutes, the transition of power would happen in the Grand Ballroom downstairs.
"We need weapons, and I need a suit," Lorenzo whispered, pulling me into his private study through a hidden wall panel.
Inside the study, Lorenzo pressed a button beneath his mahogany desk. A wall of books slid back, revealing a high-tech armory stacked with tactical gear, assault rifles, and silenced pistols. Next to it was a glass case containing his signature tailored charcoal suit.
"Why are you helping me, Clara?" Lorenzo asked suddenly, his back to me as he stripped off his bloodstained medical bandages and pulled on a crisp white dress shirt. "You could have run. You could have taken the money in the safe and vanished."
I stood in the doorway, the heavy pistol still resting in my hands.
"When my father died and the loan sharks came for me, everyone in this city turned their backs," I said softly, looking him in the eye. "My family treated me like a burden. The guards here treated me like trash. You were the only man who ever looked at me and saw a human being with value. I didn't save the Don tonight, Lorenzo. I saved the man."
Lorenzo paused, his hand buttoning his vest. He walked over to me, his heavy boots silent on the Persian rug. He reached out and gently lifted my chin with his finger, forcing me to look into his piercing gaze.
"No one will ever look down on you again, Clara," he declared softly, his voice full of a solemn promise. "Starting today, you aren't a maid. You are mine."
Before I could process his words, the study door was suddenly blown off its hinges with a violent EXPLOSION!
Wood fragments and smoke filled the air.
Through the haze, three heavily armed men in black tactical gear stepped into the room, their assault rifles raised.
"Target confirmed!" one shouted. "The Don is alive! Kill him!"
Lorenzo didn't blink. He grabbed the heavy mahogany desk with one hand, flipping it on its side to block a hail of automatic gunfire.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Bullets chewed through the expensive wood, showering us with splinters. Lorenzo pulled two customized Kimber 1911 pistols from his holster belt, leaned out from behind the desk, and fired with terrifying precision.
HEADSHOT. HEADSHOT.
Two of the mercenaries dropped dead instantly. But the third gunman lunged around the desk, pinning Lorenzo against the wall and pressing the barrel of an AK-47 directly against Lorenzo's chest!
"Die, old man!" the guard yelled.
"Not today!" I screamed.
I sprinted forward, leapt onto the gunman's back, and slammed the butt of my hand-gun directly into his eye socket. The guard roared in pain, swinging his elbow back and hitting me across the cheek. I flew across the room, crashing into a glass display cabinet.
That split second was all Lorenzo needed.
Lorenzo grabbed the guard’s wrist, twisted it until the bone snapped, snatched the combat knife from the guard's vest, and drove it straight through the man's throat.
The room fell dead silent, save for the heavy breathing of two survivors.
Lorenzo rushed over to me, lifting me up into his arms as if I weighed nothing. "Clara! Look at me!"
Blood was dripping down my temple, but I managed a small, defiant smile. "I hit him pretty hard, didn't I?"
Lorenzo let out a dark, breathless laugh, wiping the blood from my forehead with his thumb. "You were magnificent."
Suddenly, the estate's main PA system crackled to life. Dante’s voice resounded throughout the entire mansion, echoing through the speakers in every room.
"Attention all Moretti soldiers and guests," Dante’s voice boomed coldly. "It seems Don Lorenzo Moretti has staged a temporary recovery. But let it be known—he is accompanied by a rat. Clara Bell, the maid, is an undercover agent working for the FBI. She poisoned the Don, and she is helping him destroy the family."
My blood ran ice cold.
"He's framing me..." I gasped, looking at Lorenzo in horror. "Lorenzo, I swear to God, I'm not FBI! I'm just a maid!"
Lorenzo looked down at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. "I know you're not FBI, Clara."
"Then why is he saying that?"
"Because," Lorenzo said, racking the slide of his pistol, "he just gave every single loyal soldier in this house a reason to shoot you on sight. He wants to execute you before I can tell them the truth."
Lorenzo reached into his suit pocket, pulled out a heavy black iron key, and pressed it into my hand.
"This key opens the underground escape tunnel in the cellar. It leads two miles away to a safehouse in Cicero," Lorenzo commanded. "Take it and run."
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"No!" I shouted, grabbing his lapels. "I'm not leaving you!"
"If you stay with me, they will tear you apart!" Lorenzo yelled, his composure finally breaking into raw emotion. "I can survive a war, Clara! But I cannot survive watching them kill you!"
