Chapter 7 - THE FAMILY TIES
The name echoed off the walls of the third-floor landing like a gunshot.
Vance.
Vincent recoiled as if he had been physically struck. His dark eyes darted from my face to Dr. Vance’s confession in his hand, and back to me. The iron trust he had placed in me for five years fractured entirely.
“You lied to me,” Vincent whispered, his voice dangerously low, stripped of all warmth. “You walked into my house, you raised my daughter, and you never told me you were related to the man who signed my wife’s death certificate.”
“I didn't know!” I cried, stepping forward instinctively, my hands raised in a desperate plea. “Mr. Romano, please! I haven’t spoken to my uncle Adrian in over a decade! We had a falling out when my parents died, and he cut ties with our side of the family! I didn't even know he was working for the Romano estate until I saw him tonight!”
Elena let out a sharp, mocking laugh from across the room.
“Oh, spare us the melodramatics, my dear,” Elena sneered, crossing her arms over her dark coat. “Bloody hands run deep in the Vance family. You didn't just happen to wander into this house looking for a maid's job. You were planted here by Adrian to keep an eye on Vincent while we cleaned up the mess Olivia left behind.”
“That is a lie!” I shouted, hot tears streaming down my face. I looked at Vincent, searching his face for any sign that he believed me. “Mr. Romano, look at me! Have I ever given you a reason to doubt my loyalty to Emma? Have I ever hurt your daughter?!”
Vincent didn't answer. He was staring at me with a cold, impenetrable mask. The mafia boss had returned, locking away the man who had nearly broken down in tears just minutes earlier.
“Boss,” Marco spoke up cautiously from the doorway, his weapon still raised toward Elena, though his eyes darted nervously between us. “What do we do? Do we detain her?”
“Detain who?” Elena smiled, her amber eyes flashing with absolute confidence.
Before Marco could blink, Elena reached into her coat and pulled out a small, heavy black remote.
“You really think I came here alone, Vincent?” Elena asked softly.
BEEP.
She pressed the button.
From downstairs, a series of muffled, synchronized explosions ripped through the lower levels of the mansion. The floor shook violently beneath our feet, and a thick cloud of gray smoke billowed up the grand staircase.
“Fire suppression systems activated,” an automated security voice echoed through the estate’s intercom. “Evacuate immediately.”
“She’s blowing the exits!” Marco yelled.
“Get Emma out of here!” Vincent ordered, handing his sleeping daughter to Marco. “Take the armored transport in the garage! Go!”
“Boss, what about you?!” Marco protested, shielding the little girl.
“I’m not going anywhere until my mother answers for what she did,” Vincent snarled, drawing his firearm and leveling it directly at Elena’s chest.
Elena didn't blink. She didn't even look at the gun. She just smiled that cold, terrifying smile.
“You can shoot me, Vincent,” Elena said smoothly. “But you’ll never find the offshore accounts. And you’ll never know where Olivia hid the rest of the ledger.”
“Marco, take Emma and Claire—now!” Vincent shouted over the blaring alarms.
“No!” I yelled, refusing to move. “I’m not leaving you, Mr. Romano!”
“Claire, damn it, go!” Vincent roared, his eyes blazing with a desperate command.
Marco didn't wait for me to argue. He grabbed my arm with his free hand, hauling me bodily toward the private service elevator while holding sleeping Emma securely against his chest.
“Let go of me!” I sobbed, fighting against his grip as the elevator doors slid open.
“I’m following orders, Claire! Get in!” Marco shoved me into the car and slammed the emergency descent button.
As the doors closed, the last thing I saw through the narrow gap was Vincent standing in the smoke, gun drawn, staring down his own mother while the mansion burned around them.
The service elevator plunged rapidly into the subterranean levels, hitting the ground floor with a jarring thud.
Marco kicked open the exit doors, bursting into the underground parking garage where the armored SUV was idling. The heavy smell of smoke and burning electrical wires filled the air.
“Get in the back! Lock the doors!” Marco ordered, thrusting Emma into my arms as I stumbled out of the elevator.
I scrambled into the back seat, pulling sleeping Emma onto my lap. She stirred slightly, letting out a soft sigh, completely oblivious to the war zone happening just floors above us.
Marco leaped into the driver’s seat, slamming the SUV into drive. The heavy vehicle surged forward, smashing through the automated garage gates and roaring out into the stormy New Orleans night.
Rain lashed against the armored windows in sheets of gray water.
“Where are we going, Marco?!” I shouted over the roar of the engine, pressing Emma tightly against my chest. “We can’t just leave him up there with her!”
“We’re going to the 4th Street clinic!” Marco yelled back, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. “If Adrian is still there, he’s going to tell us everything he knows about Elena’s offshore holdings! It’s the only leverage we have left!”
The SUV tore through the flooded streets, dodging abandoned cars and racing toward the industrial district.
My mind was spinning. My uncle Adrian, the man who had abandoned our family, held the key to the Romano empire’s darkest secrets. And Elena Romano, the woman who had orchestrated an empire, was currently holding her own son hostage in a burning mansion.
We rounded the corner onto 4th Street, the neon sign of the private medical clinic flickering dimly through the rain.
Marco slammed on the brakes, throwing the SUV into park right in front of the clinic’s glass doors.
“Stay in the car,” Marco ordered, unholstering his weapon. “Lock the doors from the inside. Do not open them for anyone except me.”
“Marco, be careful,” I pleaded.
He gave a grim nod, stepped out into the pouring rain, and vanished inside the dark, foreboding building.
I pulled Emma close, checking her pulse, making sure she was safe. The rain hammered against the roof like tiny drums.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
The clinic was dead silent, its windows dark and uninviting.
Suddenly, the front glass doors of the clinic flew open.
A figure stumbled out into the pouring rain.
It was Dr. Adrian Vance.
He wasn't wearing his lab coat anymore. He was clutching a thick, brown leather briefcase to his chest, running blindly toward the street.
Right behind him, bursting through the doors with his weapon drawn, was Marco.
“Stop right there, Adrian!” Marco shouted over the rain.
Dr. Vance panicked, looking wildly around the street. His eyes landed on the armored SUV idling at the curb.
He sprinted directly toward us.
Before I could process what was happening, Dr. Vance yanked the rear passenger door open—the door I had forgotten to lock from the inside.
May you like
He dived headfirst into the back seat, slamming the door behind him, pressing a cold, trembling gun barrel directly against my temple.
“Drive!” Dr. Vance screamed at the empty driver’s seat, panting heavily, his eyes wild with terror. “Drive right now, or I swear to God I’ll blow the maid’s brains out!”
