THE MAFIA'S HEIR AND THE MAID WHO KNEW TOO MUCH

Luca bolted from the study, and I followed right behind him, my heart hammering against my ribs. If the Bellinis had escaped the basement, they had nothing left to lose. They were cornered animals in a house full of armed men, which made them incredibly dangerous.

We burst through the swinging doors into the massive industrial kitchen.

Pots and pans were scattered across the floor, slippery with spilled olive oil. Don Bellini was holding a jagged piece of broken glass against the throat of Matteo, the Italian chef, using the terrified man as a human shield. Vanessa was standing behind her father, clutching a heavy iron meat cleaver she had grabbed from the butcher's block.

“Back off, Luca!” Bellini spat, his scarred hand shaking as he pressed the glass tighter against Matteo’s neck. A thin line of blood trickled down the chef’s white collar. “Have your men bring a car to the service entrance. We leave tonight, or the chef dies right here on your expensive marble floor.”

Luca didn't lower his gun, keeping the sights locked squarely on Bellini’s forehead. “You kill him, and I promise you won’t make it to the driveway.”

“We’re already dead if we stay!” Vanessa screamed, her red gown torn and stained with basement dust.

I realized something crucial. Matteo wasn't just a pastry chef. I remembered the heavy, calloused hands I had seen him using to knead thick dough earlier that evening. He was a large, powerfully built man from Milan, currently playing the victim because he thought it was his only option.

I caught Matteo’s eye. He was looking at me, terrified.

I needed a distraction.

Without thinking, I grabbed a heavy brass candlestick from the nearby serving cart and hurled it directly at the hanging rack of copper pots above Bellini’s head.

CRASH!

The deafening clatter of heavy copper falling distracted Bellini for a fraction of a second. His eyes darted upward.

Matteo didn't waste the opportunity. The chef drove his heavy elbow violently backward, striking Don Bellini squarely in the ribs. Bellini gasped, the glass slipping from his hand. Matteo twisted his massive frame, grabbed Bellini by the wrist, and flipped the older man over his shoulder, slamming him brutally onto the stainless steel prep table.

Luca’s guards swarmed the kitchen in seconds, pinning Bellini down and securing him in heavy zip-ties.

But Vanessa had used the chaos to bolt.

She sprinted out the back kitchen door and down the servant’s corridor. She was heading for the grand staircase.

She was heading for Isabella’s room.

I didn't wait for Luca’s men. I knew the servant corridors better than anyone in the house. I cut through the laundry room, sprinting up the narrow spiral staircase used by the maids, my breath burning in my lungs.

I burst into the second-floor hallway just as Vanessa reached the top of the main stairs, the heavy iron meat cleaver still gripped in her hand. Her eyes were wild, fixed on Isabella’s locked door. She intended to take the one thing Luca valued most.

“Vanessa!” I shouted, stepping between her and the bedroom door.

She let out a feral scream and lunged at me. She swung the cleaver, but her high heels slipped on the polished hardwood. The blade missed my face, tearing violently into the pocket of my black uniform apron instead.