Chapter 3 - Midnight Visitors
Locking the door didn't stop the feeling of being hunted. At 2:30 AM, a low, rhythmic thud echoed through the air ducts of the staff wing.
I bolted upright in bed, heart hammering against my ribs. Lily was still fast asleep beside me, curled into a ball. I slipped out from under the duvet, my bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. I crept toward the hallway door, pressing my ear against the cool wood.
Clack. Tap. Whir.
It wasn't the wind. It was the distinct sound of a security keypad being tampered with at the end of the corridor—the manual override panel that controlled the private elevator connecting the staff quarters directly to the ground floor.
Panic seized me. Dominic had said nobody gets past his guard, but whoever was out there wasn't trying to get in from the outside. They were already inside the wing, and they were methodically disabling the local alarms.
I grabbed a heavy brass candlestick from the dresser, my hands shaking so violently I almost dropped it. I crept back to the bed, gently lifting Lily and wrapping her in her blanket. She stirred, letting out a soft sigh, but didn't wake up. I tucked her under the heavy oak desk in the corner, whispering fiercely into her ear, “Stay here, baby. Don’t make a sound, no matter what you hear.”
She blinked sleepily, too exhausted to protest.
I slipped out into the corridor just as the overhead emergency lights flickered and died, plunging the hallway into absolute darkness. Only the eerie green glow of the backup exit signs cast long, distorted shadows across the walls.
Footsteps approached—heavy, deliberate, and entirely unhurried.
I pressed myself flat against the wall beside the doorway, raising the heavy brass candlestick above my head. The shadow rounded the corner, tall and broad-shouldered, clad in dark tactical gear with a balaclava concealing everything except a pair of cold, dead eyes.
As the intruder passed my doorway, I swung with all my might.
CRACK.
The candlestick connected squarely with the side of his helmet, sending a shockwave up my arms. The man stumbled hard against the opposite wall, dropping a suppressed pistol clattering to the floor. But he didn’t go down. He whirled around, a gloved hand shooting out like a piston to grab me by the throat and slam me against the drywall.
Air instantly vanished from my lungs. I clawed at his arm, but he was like solid iron.
“Clever little housekeeper,” a raspy voice hissed from behind the mask. “Too bad the girl ruined the main course. Let’s see how well she guards her mother.”
Black spots danced at the edge of my vision. Just as my grip began to loosen, a deafening explosion ripped through the end of the hallway.
The intruder was violently jerked backward, thrown off me as a hail of automatic gunfire chewed through the wall beside my head.
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Through the haze of smoke and plaster dust, a towering figure stepped out of the gloom, two custom Berettas smoking in his hands. Dominic Moretti stood over the choking assassin, his face twisted into an expression of cold, merciless fury.
“You picked the wrong house,” Dominic snarled, and pulled both triggers.
