Chapter 6 - THE LOOSE PERSIAN RUG NEAR THE STAIRCASE
"I suggest," Mrs. Higgins said, her voice dry as dust, "that you get out of my kitchen."
The two armed thugs hesitated, staring at the elderly woman in a flour-stained apron pointing a twelve-gauge directly at them.
Vanessa laughed nervously.
"Mrs. Higgins, put that down before you hurt yourself. You're a cook."
"I grew up on a farm in Texas, Miss Bellini," Mrs. Higgins replied without flinching. "I've shot coyotes faster than your boys here. Drop the guns."
One of the thugs raised his rifle.
Mrs. Higgins didn't blink.
She pulled the trigger.
The blast was deafening.
The shotgun roared, blowing a massive hole in the ceiling tiles right above the men's heads.
Dust, plaster, and wiring rained down on them.
The thugs dropped their weapons instinctively, covering their heads.
"Next one goes center mass," Mrs. Higgins stated calmly, racking another shell.
Vanessa shrieked, backing away toward the swinging doors.
"You're all insane! The whole house is surrounded!"
"Then we'll hold the kitchen," I said, stepping forward.
But as Vanessa backed into the hallway, a massive shadow loomed behind her.
It was Luca.
His white shirt was torn and stained with blood, but his eyes burned with a terrifying, protective fury.
He grabbed Vanessa by the hair, yanking her backward.
The silver revolver fell from her grip, clattering across the floor.
"Luca, wait!" Vanessa screamed as he slammed her against the wall. "Marco has Caroline! If you kill me, he shoots her!"
Luca froze.
His chest heaved.
"Where are they?" he demanded, pressing his forearm against her throat.
Vanessa gasped for air, a wicked, triumphant smile spreading across her face.
"The grand staircase. He's taking her up to the master balcony. To throw her off."
Luca's face went completely pale.
He dropped Vanessa and sprinted back down the hallway toward the foyer.
Vanessa slumped against the wall, coughing, but the smile never left her face.
"You see, Rachel?" she wheezed. "He'll always choose the wife. He leaves his daughter behind."
I didn't listen to her.
I reached under the table and pulled Sophie out.
"Come on, sweetheart. We're leaving."
"Not so fast," Vanessa hissed.
She lunged toward the dropped revolver on the floor.
I was faster.
I kicked the gun sliding it under the heavy commercial refrigerator where she couldn't reach it.
Vanessa snarled, grabbing a heavy cast-iron skillet from the counter and swinging it wildly at me.
I ducked, pushing Sophie behind Mrs. Higgins.
"Go to the service stairs!" Mrs. Higgins yelled, keeping the shotgun leveled at the doorway. "Take the girl to the basement tunnel!"
I grabbed Sophie's hand and ran.
We bolted through the pantry and pushed open the heavy door leading to the narrow, twisting service stairs.
The stairs were dark, lit only by a single flickering bulb.
We hurried down, our footsteps echoing off the concrete walls.
"Miss Rachel, where are we going?" Sophie cried, stumbling in her little dress.
"To a safe place, honey. I promise."
We reached the basement landing.
It was a maze of wine cellars, storage crates, and utility rooms.
I knew there was an old prohibition-era tunnel connecting the basement to the carriage house outside the security perimeter. Luca had mentioned it once when warning the staff about dampness.
We navigated through the dark, cold corridors.
I found the heavy iron door hidden behind a rack of vintage wines.
I pulled the rusty lever. It groaned open.
"In here," I whispered.
We stepped into the damp, earth-smelling tunnel.
I was about to pull the door shut when a flashlight beam cut through the darkness, hitting me directly in the eyes.
"Going somewhere, Rachel?"
I squinted against the harsh light.
Stepping out from behind a stack of crates was a woman.
She was in her fifties, wearing a sharp business suit, holding a suppressed pistol.
May you like
I recognized her instantly.
It was Diane Fletcher, the wedding coordinator.
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