Chapter 2 - The Smoke and the Sacrifice
The fire started in the old electrical room adjacent to Elena Moretti’s private suite. Within minutes, thick, toxic black smoke began chewing its way through the antique wainscoting and dry timbers of the historic estate.
Grace was awake when the first tendrils of gray smoke slipped beneath the basement door.
Years of working in old buildings had sharpened her instincts. She didn't wait for an alarm. She grabbed a wet dish towel from a bucket in the corner, pressed it against her mouth, and threw her weight against the wooden door. The lock—old brass set into rotting pine—groaned under her strength and snapped.
She burst into the corridor, coughing. The house was already a maze of blinding fog.
Elena!
Grace knew the floor plan better than anyone. While the guests and security guards were panicking near the front foyer, Grace sprinted toward the east wing. The heat was rising exponentially, cracking the stained-glass windows and turning the chandeliers into blurry, weeping ghosts.
When she reached Elena’s suite, the door was jammed shut by warped timber.
“Grace!” a weak voice cried from inside.
Using every ounce of her strength, Grace slammed her shoulder against the door once, twice, three times. The wood splintered, giving way with a deafening crash.
Inside, Elena was trapped in her wheelchair, paralyzed by smoke and fear.
Then the ceiling beam—weakened by decades of moisture and the sudden inferno—snapped above them.
Grace didn't hesitate. She threw her broad body over Elena’s wheelchair, wrapping her arms around the elderly woman’s head, absorbing the crushing impact of the falling timber with her own back.
Pain exploded across her shoulders, hot and blinding. Her skin scorched against the burning embers, but she refused to move.
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“Hold on,” Grace gasped through the smoke.
That was when Dante and his security team finally broke through the main doors.
