Chapter 4 - The Upstairs Trap
Michael laid down a relentless volley of fire, forcing the lone assassin to keep his head down behind the metal chairs. Under the cover of the deafening noise, Vincent moved with shocking speed for a man in his sixties. He grabbed Grace by the wrist and pulled her down the hallway, slipping right past the shooter's blind spot.
They rounded the corner and found the heavy steel doors of the freight elevator. Grace slammed her palm against the call button, but nothing happened. The light remained dark.
“They cut the main power,” Grace realized with a sinking heart. “The freight elevators run on a different grid than the emergency lights. They’re dead.”
Michael and Isabella came sliding around the corner seconds later. Michael was out of bullets. He discarded the empty clip and slammed a fresh one into his gun, his chest heaving.
“He’s dead, but more are coming,” Michael panted. “Elevator?”
“Dead,” Vincent said.
Before anyone could panic, a horrible, blood-curdling scream echoed down the elevator shaft from the floors above. It was a woman’s voice, raw and filled with unimaginable terror. It was the same scream Grace had heard moments before the ballroom descended into chaos.
“That came from the second floor,” Grace said, pointing up toward the ceiling. “The administrative offices and the security control room are up there.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed. The pieces of the puzzle were finally clicking together in his mind. “Anthony didn’t just lock the doors to trap us. He locked them to buy himself time. The control room. That’s where the master override for the hotel’s security is located. It’s also where the master safe is.”
Michael frowned. “The safe? Why would he care about the hotel safe?”
“Because that’s where all the wedding gifts were temporarily stored,” Isabella whispered, her face draining of the little color it had left.
Grace remembered. For the past three hours, VIP guests had been handing over envelopes of cash, bearer bonds, and diamonds. It was a traditional mafia wedding. Millions of dollars in untraceable wealth had been locked in that safe.
“He’s not just trying to kill us,” Vincent said, a dark smile playing on his lips. “He’s robbing us to fund his takeover. He needs that money to pay off the men he hired tonight.”
“We need to stop him,” Michael said, checking his weapon.
“No,” Grace interrupted, surprising herself again. Three sets of eyes snapped to her. She swallowed hard, realizing she was giving tactical advice to the mafia. “I mean... we can’t take the elevator, but there is a maintenance stairwell right here. It goes straight to the second-floor control room. But if we go up there, we’re walking right into a trap.”
Vincent studied her for a long moment. He reached out and placed a heavy, reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“Grace, my dear,” Vincent said softly. “In my world, a trap is only a trap if you don’t know it’s there. If you know it’s there, it becomes an opportunity.”
He turned toward the stairwell door. “Lead us up. We have a billionaire to bankrupt.”
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They climbed the concrete stairs in agonizing silence. Grace’s legs burned, her uniform soaked in sweat. When they reached the second-floor landing, Grace slowly pushed the door open.
The corridor was a massacre. Five heavily armed men wearing Romano security badges lay dead on the plush carpet. And sitting against the wall, clutching the lifeless body of the head of security, was a young bridesmaid, her hands covered in blood, screaming uncontrollably.
