THE LIES WE SEW

The deafening crack of gunfire in the enclosed bedroom made my ears ring. Splinters of expensive oak rained down on the pink carpet.

Millie screamed, clapping her hands over her ears.

I didn’t think. Instinct took over. I grabbed Millie by the waist, threw us both off the bed, and rolled underneath the heavy, solid oak frame just as a second volley of bullets tore through the door, shredding the pink duvet where we had been sitting seconds before.

I clamped my hand over Millie’s mouth, pulling her small, trembling body flush against my chest. “Shh, baby, don’t make a sound,” I breathed into her ear.

The door gave way with a sickening crunch. Heavy combat boots stepped into the room, crushing the splinters of wood into the carpet.

From beneath the bed valance, I could see two pairs of boots. They weren’t Marco’s men. They were wearing black tactical gear. Carlo’s hit squad had breached the house.

“Check the closet,” a gruff voice ordered.

I held my breath, clutching the rolled-up photograph and the rag doll against my apron. This picture was the only hard proof Vincenzo had of Carlo’s treason. Without it, Carlo could deny everything, kill us, and claim a rival family did it.

The closet doors slid open. Clothes rustled.

“Clear,” the second man said. He walked toward the bed. I saw his boots stop inches from my face. My heart hammered so violently I was certain he could hear it. He reached down and yanked the shredded duvet off the mattress.

“Room’s empty,” the gruff voice said. “They must have moved her to the safe room in the basement. Come on, Carlo wants the kid alive to force Vincenzo to sign over the ports.”

Answer one: Carlo wasn’t just staging a coup; he needed Millie alive as a hostage to completely break Vincenzo’s empire legally.

The boots turned and jogged out of the room.

I waited ten agonizing seconds before I exhaled. I pulled Millie out from under the bed. She was hyperventilating, her eyes wide with terror.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” I whispered, kissing her forehead. “We have to move. We can’t stay here.”

The emergency lockdown shutters meant the windows were sealed with two inches of steel. The only way out was through the house.

I took Millie’s hand, gripped the photograph tightly, and crept out into the hallway.

The estate was a nightmare. The red emergency lights flickered, casting long, demonic shadows. The sound of distant gunfire echoed from the east wing—the medical suite.

Anna.

I hesitated, my heart tearing in two directions. But I looked down at Millie. My first duty was to the child in my hand.

We moved quietly down the back servants' stairs, the same way I had gone to the incinerator bin. My goal was the service tunnels in the wine cellar. If we could get to the carriage house, I could find a car and get Millie to safety.

We reached the kitchen. It was empty, smelling faintly of the dinner we had abandoned hours ago.

We slipped into the dark stairwell leading to the cellar. I pushed open the heavy iron door.

Standing in the center of the dimly lit wine cellar, holding a suppressed pistol, was Carlo.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a face scarred by years of violence. He looked completely calm, almost bored, as he turned the gun toward us.

“Well, look at this,” Carlo smiled, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “The nanny and the little princess. You saved me a trip upstairs, Nell.”

I shoved Millie behind my back, stepping directly in front of the barrel of his gun. “Let her go, Carlo. She’s a child. She has nothing to do with this.”

“She has everything to do with this,” Carlo said, taking a slow step forward. “Vincenzo went soft the day he met Elena. He wanted to legitimize the business. Go clean. You can’t go clean in our world, Nell. I had to get rid of the wife to put the fire back in his blood. And it worked. Until this little brat showed up and made him soft all over again.”

“He knows,” I said, my voice steady despite the absolute terror freezing my blood. “Anna told him everything. He knows Elena jumped. He knows you faked the murder.”

Carlo’s smile vanished. “Anna is bleeding out in the medical wing. And Vincenzo is currently pinned down in the library by six of my best men. He’s not coming to save you.”

Open two: If Vincenzo is trapped and Anna is dying, how do we get out of this cellar?

Carlo raised the gun, aiming it directly at my chest. “Now, step aside, Nell. I only need the kid.”

“No,” I said.

Carlo sighed. “Have it your way.”

His finger tightened on the trigger.

Suddenly, a loud, metallic CLANG echoed from the far corner of the cellar.

Carlo whipped his gun toward the sound.

Stepping out from the shadows of the vintage wine racks was Audrey.

Her silk evening gown was torn, and she was barefoot. She was holding a massive, heavy glass bottle of vintage Barolo like a baseball bat. The guards had locked her in the cellar, just as Vincenzo had ordered.

“Carlo,” Audrey said, her voice shaking but laced with a pure, unadulterated hatred.

“Audrey,” Carlo sneered, keeping his gun aimed at her now. “I thought you ran. You always were a coward.”

“I was,” Audrey agreed, tears streaming down her face. “I let you ruin my life. I let you use me to manipulate Vincenzo. I let you terrorize that little girl.”

She looked at Millie, hiding behind my legs. Her expression softened into genuine sorrow. “I’m sorry, Millie. I’m so sorry.”