THE LIES SHE POURED

The sound was deafening, a concussive roar that vibrated through the floorboards and rattled my teeth. Glass rained down in the dark, pinging against the granite island.

"Sadie!" Leo screamed in the pitch black.

"I'm here!" I dropped to my hands and knees, crawling through the shattered glass until I felt his small, trembling arms. I pulled him tightly against my chest.

"Arthur," I whispered, reaching out in the dark until my fingers brushed the old man’s shoulder. He was still unconscious, his breathing shallow and reedy.

I couldn't drag him. I weighed 130 pounds, and he was dead weight. But I couldn't leave him.

Heavy, booted footsteps echoed from the front foyer. Men were shouting in Italian. Flashlight beams sliced through the darkness, sweeping across the dining room walls just beyond the kitchen doors.

Take Leo. Go down to the wine cellar. Lock the steel door. Dominic's instructions rang in my head.

"Leo," I whispered directly into the boy's ear. "Climb onto my back. Wrap your arms around my neck like a monkey. Do not make a sound. Understand?"

He sniffled, nodding his small head against my shoulder, and scrambled onto my back.

I grabbed Arthur by the lapels of his suit jacket. Gritting my teeth, I pulled. My shoulders screamed in protest, but adrenaline gave me strength I didn't know I had. I dragged the old man across the kitchen floor, sliding him toward the heavy oak door that led down to the cellar.

The flashlight beams hit the kitchen swinging doors.

"Check the back!" a rough voice yelled.

I hauled Arthur over the threshold of the cellar door just as the kitchen doors kicked open. I quietly pulled the door shut behind me, plunging us back into the suffocating dark of the stairwell.

"Hold on, Leo," I breathed.

I dragged Arthur down the stone steps, one agonizing thump at a time. By the time we reached the bottom, I was dripping with sweat and my hands were blistered. I felt along the stone wall until my fingers found the cold steel of the vault door. Dominic's private reserve wasn't just for wine; it was a reinforced safe room.

I spun the heavy wheel, pulled the door open, hauled Arthur inside, and slammed it shut, engaging the heavy internal deadbolts.

Soft emergency LED lights flickered on inside the vault, illuminating rows of expensive vintage bottles.

I collapsed against the steel door, gasping for air. Leo slid off my back, immediately crawling over to Arthur.

"Is he gonna wake up?" Leo asked, his voice trembling.

I knelt beside Arthur. His pulse was weak, fluttering like a dying bird. Without his medication, his heart was failing. I looked around the cellar wildly, searching for anything that could help. A first aid kit on the wall. I tore it open, finding aspirin. I chewed two of them up myself, pried Arthur's mouth open, and rubbed the paste onto his gums, hoping the nitroglycerin-adjacent properties would absorb.

We waited in the cold silence.

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.

Suddenly, a heavy, muffled pounding echoed against the steel door behind me.

I jumped up, pulling Leo behind me.

"Sadie!" a voice yelled through the thick metal. "Open the door!"

It wasn't Dominic.

It was Rebecca.

"Sadie, I know you're in there!" she screamed, her voice frantic, muffled by the steel. "Open the door! Marco’s men are dead! Dominic is coming, and if he finds me out here, he'll kill me! Let me in!"

I stared at the door. "Why would I let you in? You held a knife to a child!"

"I was scared!" she sobbed. It sounded genuine, the pure terror of a cornered animal. "Marco betrayed me! He sent them to kill me, too! Sadie, please, I have the pawn ticket! I'll give it to you! Just let me in!"

I hesitated. If she really had the ticket, it was the only leverage we had against Marco Vance. But opening the door was a risk I couldn't afford.

"Slide it under the door!" I yelled back.

"It's too thick! It won't fit! Sadie, please!"

I looked at Leo. Then I looked at Arthur, who was still gray and unconscious. We needed an ambulance. We needed out.

"Stand back," I ordered.

I placed my hand on the heavy locking wheel. I turned it slowly. The deadbolts retracted with a heavy clank. I pulled the door open just a crack.

Rebecca pushed through, gasping, her dress torn and her knees bloodied. She collapsed onto the stone floor of the cellar, weeping.

I slammed the door shut and locked it again.

"Give me the ticket," I demanded, holding out my hand.

Rebecca looked up at me, tears streaming down her face. She reached into her dress, pulling out the small laminated square. She handed it to me.

I looked down at it.

It wasn't the pawn ticket. It was a receipt for a dry cleaner.

Before my brain could process the switch, Rebecca lunged upward. She didn't have the kitchen knife anymore. Instead, she grabbed a heavy, vintage bottle of Bordeaux from the nearest rack and smashed it against the stone wall.