Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF LOYALTY
Maya didn't scream. She didn't beg. She moved with the desperate, jagged instinct of a woman who had fought off muggers in the streets of San Antonio. She kicked the tray of crystal glasses off a nearby table, the shattering noise echoing like a gunshot through the cellar.
As the woman in silver flinched, Maya threw herself into the darkness of the narrow corridor. She heard a soft thwip as a bullet embedded itself in the wooden wall behind her head. She scrambled, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her mind racing. She couldn't go back to her room. She needed to reach Marcus.
She sprinted up the stairs, her feet hitting the hardwood with frantic rhythm. She burst into the master study, finding Marcus hunched over a desk covered in spreadsheets. He looked up, his face darkening at the sight of her.
"What the hell are you doing, Maya?"
"They're inside," she gasped, clutching her side where she’d scraped it against the door frame. "Mrs. Bellamy. And the woman from the gala—I don't know her name, but they’re selling your security protocols. They’re coming for Caleb!"
Marcus didn't hesitate. He pulled a handgun from a hidden compartment under his desk, his expression shifting from businessman to warlord. "Get to Caleb’s room. Barricade the door. If anyone approaches, you don't ask questions. You fire."
"Marcus, they have weapons!"
"So do I," he said, his voice cold as ice. "Go!"
Maya ran to the north wing. The hallways, once familiar and comforting, now felt like a labyrinth designed to kill her. She reached Caleb’s room and locked the heavy oak door. The boy was asleep, his chest rising and falling peacefully. She dragged a heavy bookshelf in front of the door and stood, weapon in hand, staring into the dark hallway.
Minutes stretched into an hour. The house was unnaturally quiet. Then, she heard it: the soft, rhythmic clicking of a lock being picked.
The door handle turned, rattled, and then stopped. A muffled voice came from the other side. "Maya? It’s Mrs. Bellamy. Open the door, dear. Let’s talk about this."
"Go away, Mrs. Bellamy," Maya said, her voice shaking but her grip firm on the weapon.
"You don't understand, child," the housekeeper’s voice changed—it was no longer the stern, matronly tone she used. It was desperate, strained. "If you don't open this door, they'll kill us all. They aren't just here for the money. They're here to erase the Blackwood line."
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Maya looked at the sleeping boy. She realized that Marcus wasn't the only one with secrets. The whole house was built on a foundation of blood. And she was the only thing standing between the history of the Blackwoods and the future of a child.
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