Chapter 7 - THE SOUTH GATE
We ran back to the main house, bypassing the bewildered guests on the front lawn. Dante instructed the police to secure the perimeter, but we didn’t wait for them.
We burst through the heavy oak doors of the foyer. The house was eerily silent, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. The crystal chandeliers still burned brightly, casting long, menacing shadows against the imported marble floors.
“Sarah!” I yelled, running toward the kitchen hallway.
Dante was right beside me, armed with a heavy brass candlestick he had snatched from a side table.
We hit the kitchen’s swinging doors.
The room was a mess of abandoned prep stations. But the heavy wooden door to the walk-in pantry was wide open.
I ran inside.
The flour sacks were scattered. The shelf where Sarah had been hiding was empty.
But on the white tile floor, there was a single, terrifying object.
It was Vivienne’s diamond engagement ring. The one Dante had given her. It was crushed, as if someone had stepped on it with a heavy heel.
“She took her,” I said, panic rising in my throat. “Vivienne took Sarah.”
“Why?” Dante asked, his eyes frantically scanning the room. “Why take the nanny? She has no money, no leverage.”
“Because Sarah is the only witness who heard Vivienne give the order to the fixer,” I realized. “Sarah knows Vivienne was part of the kidnapping. If Vivienne is going to run, she has to eliminate the only person who can tie her directly to the crime before the police find her.”
Ruth burst into the kitchen, out of breath. “I checked the security monitors in the staff room. The cameras in the East Wing have been disabled.”
“The East Wing,” Dante said. “That’s where the private garage is. She’s trying to steal a car.”
We sprinted out of the kitchen, down the long, carpeted corridors of the East Wing. The walls were lined with portraits of Dante’s ancestors, their painted eyes seeming to watch us as we ran.
As we neared the heavy steel door that led to the underground garage, we heard a scream.
It was muffled, terrified, and cut terribly short.
Dante didn’t hesitate. He kicked the steel door open with a massive crash.
The garage was dimly lit, housing Dante’s collection of vintage sports cars.
At the far end, near a sleek black Aston Martin, was Vivienne.
She looked nothing like the polished socialite from the dinner party. Her designer dress was torn, her makeup smeared into a terrifying mask. In her hand, she held a long, serrated chef’s knife from the kitchen.
Pinned against the concrete wall was Sarah. Vivienne had a handful of the nanny’s hair, the blade of the knife pressed tight against her throat.
“Don’t come any closer, Dante!” Vivienne screamed, her eyes wild and frantic. “I swear to God, I’ll kill her!”
We froze.
“Let her go, Vivienne,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a low, commanding register. He slowly lowered the brass candlestick. “It’s over. The police are outside. Arthur’s fixer is in custody. You have nowhere to go.”
“It’s not over!” Vivienne shrieked, pressing the knife harder. A thin line of blood appeared on Sarah’s neck. The young girl sobbed, her eyes begging me for help. “Arthur set me up! He promised me the debts would be paid! I didn’t want Lily to die!”
“But you were willing to sell her to a monster,” I said, taking a slow step forward.
“Shut up, you pathetic little waitress!” Vivienne spat. “You think you’re a hero? You think Dante is going to reward you? He’s broken goods! This whole family is cursed!”
She yanked Sarah backward, moving toward the driver’s side door of the Aston Martin.
“I want the keys, Dante,” Vivienne demanded. “Throw them on the ground. And tell the cops to open the gates, or I paint this garage with her blood.”
Dante reached into his pocket. He pulled out a key fob.
“Okay,” he said calmly. “Just let the girl go. She has nothing to do with this.”
He tossed the keys. They clattered onto the concrete floor, sliding to a stop a few feet away from Vivienne.
She sneered. “Pick them up, Emily. Bring them to me.”
I looked at Dante. He gave me a barely perceptible nod.
I walked slowly across the concrete, my heart pounding so hard it hurt my ribs. I bent down and picked up the keys.
I took another step toward Vivienne. I was close enough to smell the bitter scent of fear and expensive perfume rolling off her.
“Give them to me,” she demanded, extending her free hand while keeping the knife to Sarah’s throat.
I held the keys out.
But I didn’t drop them in her hand.
Instead, I pressed the bright red panic button on the fob.
The Aston Martin’s alarm erupted into a deafening, piercing shriek. The headlights flashed blindingly in the dim garage.
Vivienne flinched, instinctively pulling her hands back to cover her ears against the sudden, agonizing noise.
It was only a fraction of a second, but it was enough.
Sarah dropped to the ground, rolling away from the blade.
Before Vivienne could recover, Dante crossed the distance. He tackled her hard into the side of the car. The knife clattered harmlessly across the concrete.
Vivienne screamed, fighting like a wild animal, but Dante pinned her to the hood of the car, his knee pressing into her back.
“You’re done,” he growled, pulling her arms behind her back.
I rushed over to Sarah, pulling her into a tight hug. She was crying hysterically, but the cut on her neck was shallow.
The garage doors suddenly rolled up. Six police officers stormed in, their weapons drawn, flashlight beams cutting through the dark.
They hauled Vivienne up from the hood of the car, snapping heavy steel handcuffs onto her wrists.
As they dragged her past me, she stopped fighting. She looked at me, her face twisted in pure, unadulterated venom.
“You think you won?” she hissed. “You think this makes you part of the family? You’re still just the help, Emily. You’ll always be a nobody.”
I looked at her, entirely unafraid.
“I’d rather be a nobody than a monster,” I said quietly.
They shoved her into the back of a cruiser and drove away.
The silence returned to the garage, broken only by Sarah’s quiet sobbing.
Dante turned to me. He looked exhausted, stripped of all his billionaire armor.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No,” I said, exhaling a breath I felt like I’d been holding for hours.
“Good.” He looked down at the concrete floor.
Lying near the tire of the car was the thick envelope of cash Vivienne had stuffed into my apron hours ago. It must have fallen out during the chaos.
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Dante picked it up. He opened it, seeing the stacks of hundred-dollar bills. He looked at me, a question in his eyes.
The cliffhanger hung there. If I lied about the money, I would lose all the trust I had just built. If I told the truth, I was admitting I had held the bribe.
