Chapter 7 - The Breach
Elena froze in the shadows of the hallway, her breath catching in her throat.
Adrian wasn't due back from the city for another hour, her mind raced. And even if he had returned early, he never entertained guests in his study past midnight without the entire security detail stationed outside.
Slowly, carefully, she crept closer to the cracked door, holding her breath so not a single sound betrayed her presence.
Through the narrow gap, she could see two men standing near the mahogany desk. Neither of them was Adrian.
One was a thick-set capo from the Queens faction named Salvatore Rossi—no relation to her late husband—and the other was a slick corporate lawyer named Marcus Vance who occasionally handled the syndicate’s offshore property transfers.
“...if Adrian refuses to step down voluntarily at the council meeting on Monday, we move on the shipping terminals first,” Salvatore was saying, his voice rough and conspiratorial. “Vincent has already secured the loyalty of the dock foremen in Brooklyn and Newark. Once we cut off his revenue streams, the boss won't have a leg to stand on.”
Marcus Vance adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, nodding slowly. “And what about the domestic situation? Vincent mentioned some woman and a child living on the estate.”
“Aw, that’s just a temporary distraction,” Salvatore spat with a harsh laugh. “Once Adrian is out of the picture and the family takes back control of the estate, the maid and her brat will be tossed out on their ears before the sun comes up. Nobody’s going to shed a tear over a kitchen worker.”
Elena’s hand flew to her mouth to suppress a gasp.
Every muscle in her body screamed at her to turn around, run back down to the staff quarters, grab Mia, and flee the estate into the snowy night. They were talking about a violent coup. They were talking about destroying Adrian—and disposing of her and her daughter as if they were nothing more than inconvenient trash.
Instead of running, however, a cold, hard wave of fury washed over her.
She had spent three years learning how to survive in the brutal, unforgiving margins of the city. She had learned how to stand her ground against men who thought she had no power.
She backed away from the door two silent steps, reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out her phone. Without hesitation, she dialed the direct emergency line to Adrian’s personal cell phone.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Inside the study, Salvatore paused mid-sentence.
“Did you hear that?” the capo muttered, turning his head toward the door.
Click.
“Who’s out there?” Salvatore barked, drawing a heavy steel-barreled automatic pistol from inside his woolen coat and striding toward the entrance.
Elena didn't wait to be found. She turned and sprinted down the hallway toward the service stairwell just as the heavy study doors blew open behind her.
“Hey! Stop right there!” Salvatore shouted.
Footsteps pounded heavily against the hardwood floor behind her, echoing like thunder through the empty gallery. Elena pumped her arms, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird as she hit the metal fire door of the stairwell, throwing her weight against it and tumbling down the concrete steps toward the ground floor.
She could hear the heavy boots of the capo clattering down the stairs just a few paces behind her.
“Get her! Don’t let her reach the staff quarters!” Salvatore roared from above.
Elena scrambled through the heavy basement exit door, cutting through the cavernous laundry room and ducking behind a row of industrial folding tables just as Salvatore burst through the door, his pistol drawn and scanning the shadows.
“Search the kitchen! Check the service exit!” Salvatore barked to an unseen accomplice.
Crouched behind the heavy steel frame of a commercial linen press, Elena pulled her phone out with trembling fingers. The screen glowed in the dark.
Her call to Adrian’s cell had gone straight to voicemail.
Think, Elena, think! she told herself, biting down hard on her lower lip until she tasted copper.
She couldn't run to the staff quarters—they would check there first, and if they found Mia sleeping in her bed...
No.
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She had to get out of the main house entirely. She had to reach the security lodge near the front gates where Adrian’s loyal head of security, an old-school veteran named Marcus Vance—no, Miller—was stationed.
Holding her breath, Elena waited until the heavy footsteps of the men receded toward the western wing of the basement. Then, moving with the silent, desperate agility of a ghost, she slipped out through the loading dock door and stepped directly into the freezing December snow.
