Chapter 3 - NIGHT OF THE RED FLAME“She wants the rabbit,” I gasped, rushing to the bed and pulling Emma into my arms. The little girl stirred, rubbing her eyes, clinging to me as the sound of distant gunshots shattered the peaceful quiet of the estate.
“She wants more than the rabbit,” Alessandro said coldly, racking the slide of his pistol. “She wants to eliminate the threat to her position. If you and Emma die in an 'unfortunate security breach,' the cipher falls into her father’s hands, and I am left with no leverage over the other families.”
He grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the side of the room where a massive floor-to-ceiling oak bookshelf stood. He reached behind a thick volume of Roman history and pulled a small brass lever.
With a low, mechanical groan, the entire bookshelf swung inward, revealing a narrow, stone-paved passage illuminated by dim emergency strip lights.
“Go down,” Alessandro ordered, shoving me gently into the opening. “Follow the passage to the end. It leads to the underground wine cellar beneath the old chapel. Lock the iron door behind you and do not open it for anyone except me.”
“What about you?!” I cried, holding Emma tight against my chest as she began to sob.
“I am going to remind my fiancée why her father knelt before my family twenty years ago,” Alessandro replied darky.
He reached down, picked up Mr. Bunny from the bed where Emma had dropped him, and tossed the toy into my arms.
“Keep the rabbit safe, Claire,” he murmured, his storm-gray eyes locking onto mine for one long, electric second. “It’s the only thing keeping you alive.”
He slammed the secret door shut just as the heavy mahogany doors of the main suite were blown off their hinges by an explosive charge.
The stone passage echoed with the deafening roar of automatic gunfire, sharp shouts, and the shattering of glass. I didn't wait to see who won. Holding Emma against my shoulder, her face buried in my neck, I ran down the dark, spiraling stone stairs as fast as my legs could carry me.
The air grew colder and damp as I descended deeper beneath the villa. The sound of gunfire faded, replaced by the heavy thrumming of underground water pipes and the sound of my own ragged breathing.
At the bottom of the stairs, the passage opened into a vast, ancient wine cellar. Rows of dusty wine barrels stacked three stories high stretched out into the shadows. At the far end stood a heavy, rusted iron door reinforced with steel rivets.
I sprinted toward the door, my heart hammering in my ribs. I reached for the heavy iron handle, but before my fingers could touch the cold metal, a shadow stepped out from behind a stack of oak barrels.
“Running so fast, housekeeper?” a sharp, cruel voice sneered.
I froze.
Standing ten feet away, illuminated by the dim red emergency lights, was Vivian. Her red dress was torn at the hem, her sleek hair disheveled, and in her right hand, she held a silver-plated snub-nosed revolver aimed directly at my chest.
Behind her stood two massive men dressed in black tactical gear, carrying suppressed submachine guns.
“Vivian... please,” I begged, taking a step back, shielding Emma with my body. “She’s just a child! We don't want the money! We don't want the syndicate! Just let us go, and we’ll leave Italy forever!”
“Oh, I know you won't take the money,” Vivian laughed, a hysterical, bitter sound that echoed off the stone walls. “Because you won't be alive to spend it. Did you really think Alessandro loved you? Did you think he was protecting you out of kindness? He’s a Moretti, you foolish girl! He only wants that cipher so he can crush my family and dominate the entire northern territory!”
She raised the revolver, aiming it straight between my eyes.
“Give me the rabbit, Claire,” Vivian commanded softly. “Or I put a bullet through your daughter’s knee first, then take it from your cold hands.”
Emma whimpered against my chest. I looked at the dark barrel of the gun, then down at the blue rabbit in my hand.
I had no weapons. I had no martial training. I was just a widowed housekeeper whose life had been built on a mountain of lies. But as I looked at the woman threatening my daughter, something inside me broke—the quiet, submissive maid who swallowed insults and took slaps across the face died right then and there.
“You want the rabbit?” I asked, my voice suddenly deadly quiet.
I raised my arm as if to throw the toy toward her feet. Vivian’s eyes instinctively tracked the motion.
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Instead of throwing it to her, I hurled the heavy stuffed toy with all my strength directly at the face of the tactical guard standing to her left.
At the exact same instant, I threw my weight against a massive, three-hundred-pound oak wine barrel resting on an unsecured wooden display rack beside me.
