Chapter 6 - THE DARKNESS IN THE MANSION
The darkness was absolute, heavy and suffocating.
Harper’s breath hitched in her throat, panic rising like bile. She instinctively reached out, her fingers brushing against the cold silk of Dante’s shirt. He grabbed her hand—his grip firm, grounding, and completely steady.
"Quiet," Dante breathed into her ear, his voice barely a vibration in the dark.
The heavy thud of combat boots echoed from the grand staircase down the hall. Five, maybe six men. They moved with military precision, sweeping the lower floors. Uncle Carlo had not sent street thugs this time; he had sent a hit squad to finish the job.
"Bianca," Harper whispered, terror spiking in her chest. "She’s down the hall."
"I know," Dante replied. His other hand pulled a heavy, suppressed pistol from his holster.
He moved silently across the Persian rug, pulling Harper behind him. They reached the heavy oak door. Dante pressed his ear against the wood.
"Check the master suite!" a gruff voice barked from the hallway. "Leave the girl for Carlo, but bring me the waitress’s hand."
Harper clamped her free hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. They really were going to butcher her for a bank vault.
"We can't stay here," Dante murmured. He reached up and felt the ornate wooden molding around the doorframe. He pressed a hidden latch.
With a soft, almost imperceptible click, a section of the oak paneling swung inward, revealing a narrow, pitch-black passageway between the walls.
"Get in," Dante ordered softly.
Harper slipped into the cold, dusty space, her injured shoulder throbbing wildly with every movement. Dante followed, pulling the panel shut just as the bedroom door handle began to rattle violently.
Through a tiny crack in the paneling, Harper watched as the heavy door was kicked open. Flashlight beams cut through the darkness of the bedroom. Armed men swarmed the room, their weapons raised.
"Room's clear!" one of the men shouted. "Marco is down. So is the restaurant manager."
"Find them!" another ordered. "They couldn't have gone far."
In the secret passage, Dante pressed his back against the wall, pulling Harper close to him to make room. The space was incredibly tight. She was pressed flush against his chest, feeling the hard, steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his shirt. It was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.
"This passage leads to a secondary staircase," Dante whispered, his lips brushing against her hair. "It drops out in the wine cellar. There's a reinforced panic room down there. We get Bianca, we get to the cellar."
Harper nodded, though she knew he couldn't see her.
They moved slowly, feeling their way through the dark. The dust irritated Harper’s throat, but she forced down the urge to cough. Every step sent a jolt of pain through her shoulder, but she bit her lip until it bled, refusing to make a sound.
After what felt like an eternity, they reached another wooden panel. Dante peered through a hidden peephole.
"We're outside Bianca’s room," he whispered.
He slowly pushed the panel open. The hallway was empty, but voices echoed from the first floor.
Dante slipped out, weapon raised, covering the staircase. He nodded to Harper.
She darted across the hall and tried Bianca's door. It was locked.
"Bianca," Harper whispered, tapping frantically on the wood. "It's Harper. Let me in."
A moment later, the lock clicked. The door opened a fraction of an inch, revealing Bianca’s terrified, tear-stained face.
"Harper?" Bianca sobbed quietly, pulling the door open.
Harper grabbed the young girl's hand. "We have to move. Now."
Dante took point, leading them silently down the back staircase that descended into the mansion's sprawling kitchens.
They were halfway down when the lights suddenly flickered back on, blinding them.
"Movement on the back stairs!" a voice roared from the kitchen.
Gunfire erupted. Bullets chewed through the wooden banister inches from Harper's head.
"Down!" Dante roared, pushing Harper and Bianca behind the thick marble island in the center of the kitchen.
Dante returned fire, dropping the first man through the doorway. But more footsteps were rushing toward the kitchen. They were pinned.
"We can't make it to the cellar," Dante said, ejecting a spent magazine and slamming a fresh one into his weapon. His face was tight with desperation. He looked at Bianca, then at Harper. "I'm going to draw their fire. When I move, you take Bianca and run for the service door. It leads to the garage."
"No!" Bianca cried, grabbing her brother's arm. "They'll kill you!"
"I'm not leaving you," Harper said, her voice trembling but resolute. She had taken a bullet for this family once. She wasn't going to run away now.
Dante looked at Harper, a flicker of profound surprise in his dark eyes. Then, his gaze dropped to the cheap coat Harper was still clutching over her good arm.
He frowned.
He reached over and pulled a small, brightly colored object protruding from the pocket of Harper's coat.
It was a child's drawing. A crayon sketch of a house with a red roof, slightly crumpled.
Harper gasped. "Where did that come from? That wasn't in my coat."
Dante stared at the drawing, the color draining entirely from his face. The mafia boss, who had remained calm through two shootouts, looked completely and utterly devastated.
"Dante?" Bianca asked, terrified. "What is it?"
Dante slowly turned the drawing over. On the back, written in crude, childish handwriting, was a single sentence.
I know where you hid her.
Dante looked up at Harper, his eyes shining with a horror she couldn't comprehend.
"Carlo didn't hire these men," Dante whispered, his voice cracking. "Carlo has been dead for three days."
Before Harper could process his words, a cold, elegant voice echoed from the kitchen doorway.
"Hello, Dante," the voice said.
Harper peeked around the marble island.
Standing in the doorway, flanked by heavily armed men, was a woman. She was in her late fifties, wearing a sharp, tailored white suit. Her hair was perfectly styled, and she looked remarkably like Dante.
"Mother?" Bianca whimpered, shrinking against the floor.
May you like
The woman smiled—a cold, terrifying smile.
"You shouldn't have kept secrets from me, Dante," his mother said smoothly. She pointed a silver revolver directly at Harper. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out about the accountant's little bastard?"
