Chapter 7 - THE FIRE AND THE FALL
The boathouse erupted into absolute chaos.
The spilled gasoline caught the flame of the Zippo instantly, sending a blazing trail of fire snaking across the wooden planks directly toward the red marine fuel barrels.
Above us, the emergency flare ricocheted off a wooden rafter and exploded in a shower of blinding red sparks, raining down on the mercenaries.
“Shoot them!” Camilla screamed, diving away from the growing flames.
But the mercenaries were blinded by the magnesium flare and scrambling away from the impending explosion of the fuel tanks.
Dante didn’t waste a millisecond.
He lunged forward, tackling the closest mercenary to the ground. In one fluid motion, Dante stripped the assault rifle from the man’s hands and swung the butt of the stock into his jaw, knocking him out cold.
Marco was already moving. He scooped up his discarded pistol from the floorboards and fired two rapid shots, dropping another mercenary before the man could raise his weapon.
“Emily, get down!” Dante roared over the crackling fire.
I threw myself over Noah in the leather seat of the boat as bullets began to shred the fiberglass hull around us.
Volkov, realizing the ledger was no longer the priority, drew a heavy revolver and aimed it directly at Dante.
But before he could fire, the first fuel barrel caught.
The explosion was deafening.
The blast wave ripped through the wooden structure, blowing out the back wall of the boathouse and showering the dock with burning splinters.
The force of it threw Volkov backward into the freezing lake.
The remaining mercenaries panicked. Two dove into the water to escape the flames; the last one turned to run, only to be taken down by a precise shot from Marco.
The boathouse was quickly becoming an inferno. The heat was unbearable, the smoke thick and choking.
“We have to go!” Marco yelled, coughing as he untied the heavy mooring ropes holding the boat to the dock.
Dante scrambled onto the boat, checking Noah and me frantically.
“Are you hurt? Emily, are you hit?” Dante asked, his hands moving over Noah’s arms and legs.
“We’re okay,” I gasped, tears streaming down my face from the thick smoke.
Dante turned to the driver's seat. He reached for the ignition, but the slot was empty.
“The keys!” Dante shouted. “Camilla has the keys!”
I looked back at the burning dock.
Camilla was scrambling on her hands and knees toward the exit, coughing violently, the silver keys still clutched in her fist. Her red silk gown was torn and smeared with soot.
Dante jumped back onto the dock, striding through the flames with a terrifying, single-minded focus.
He grabbed Camilla by the back of her ruined dress and hauled her to her feet.
“Give me the keys,” Dante demanded.
Camilla thrashed wildly in his grip. “No! You’re going to leave me here to burn! I won’t let you leave without me!”
“You brought this fire on yourself,” Dante said coldly. He pried her fingers open, snatching the keys from her hand.
He threw her roughly onto the dock. “Wait for the police, Camilla. It’s the safest place for you.”
Dante turned his back on her, walking toward the boat.
I watched him from the passenger seat, relief flooding my chest. We had made it. We were going to survive.
But as Dante stepped onto the bow of the boat, I saw Camilla reach down her leg.
Strapped to her thigh, hidden beneath the slit of her gown, was a small, pearl-handled derringer.
She pulled it free, her face contorted into a mask of pure, ugly hatred.
She wasn’t aiming at Dante.
She was aiming directly at me.
“You ruined everything!” Camilla shrieked over the roar of the fire. “You’re just a maid!”
Time seemed to slow down.
I saw the hammer of the small gun pull back. I couldn't move. My body was completely frozen, my arms wrapped tightly around Noah.
“Emily!” Dante roared.
He didn’t have time to raise his weapon. He didn't have time to tackle Camilla.
Instead, Dante threw his massive body forward, diving directly between me and the barrel of the gun just as Camilla pulled the trigger.
BANG.
The sharp crack echoed over the roar of the flames.
Dante grunted in pain, his body jerking violently mid-air before he collapsed heavily onto the fiberglass floor of the boat.
“Daddy!” Noah screamed.
Before Camilla could cock the gun for a second shot, Marco lunged from the shadows. The massive security chief tackled Camilla to the burning dock, wrenching the gun from her hand and pinning her face down against the wood.
“Don’t move, you crazy witch!” Marco growled, dragging her away from the flames.
I dropped to my knees on the floor of the boat, my hands frantically searching for the wound.
Dante was clutching his right shoulder, blood pouring through the fingers of his white tuxedo shirt.
“Dante!” I cried, pressing my hands hard against his shoulder to stem the bleeding. “Hold on! Please hold on!”
He looked up at me, his face pale, sweat beading on his forehead.
Despite the agony, a small, genuine smile touched his lips.
“You called me Dante,” he whispered, his eyes closing as the shock set in.
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Sirens wailed in the distance, echoing across the lake. The police and fire department were finally arriving.
I held the head of the Marino family in my lap as the boathouse burned behind us, realizing that nothing in this mansion would ever be the same again.
