THE PRICE OF A STOLEN CRUMB

Armed men flooded the main hallway, their weapons drawn. They weren't strangers; they were Dominic’s own security detail. The men he paid to protect his family.

Victor had bought them all.

Dominic didn't flinch. He casually slipped his father’s silver watch into his pocket. He moved with terrifying speed, stepping in front of me to shield my body with his own.

“You always were impatient, Victor,” Dominic said, his voice deadly calm.

“I’m a practical man,” Victor replied, stepping safely behind the line of armed guards. “Vivienne was a decent distraction, but she got greedy. You got distracted. The family needs leadership, Dominic. You’ve gone soft playing the grieving widower and the doting father.”

“Where is my daughter?” Dominic demanded, his muscles coiled tight.

“Upstairs. Unharmed,” Victor said smoothly. “She’ll be sent to a very nice boarding school in Switzerland. As for you... well, the story will be that the maid,” Victor pointed at me, “was a corporate spy who poisoned you in your sleep. Tragic.”

Dominic glanced at me over his shoulder. “Are you ready to run, Lena?”

Before I could answer, Dominic grabbed a heavy, cast-iron skillet from the stove and hurled it directly at the nearest guard’s face.

The sickening crack of metal hitting bone echoed in the kitchen.

“GO!” Dominic roared.

He flipped the massive marble kitchen table on its side, creating a barricade just as the guards opened fire. Bullets shattered the custom cabinetry and exploded the porcelain plates into sharp shrapnel.

I scrambled on my hands and knees toward the pantry door. I knew this house better than anyone. I knew the blind spots.

“Dominic!” I screamed over the gunfire.

He slid across the floor, dodging a spray of bullets, and pulled me into the narrow pantry. He kicked the heavy oak door shut and locked the deadbolt.

“There’s a dumbwaiter at the back,” I breathed, coughing on the drywall dust. “It goes up to the second-floor linen closet. Near Emma’s room.”

Dominic didn't hesitate. He pulled the wooden panel open. The shaft was small, designed for laundry baskets.

“Get in,” he ordered.

“I’m not leaving you!”

“You’re going to get Emma and get her to the panic room in the basement,” Dominic said, grabbing my face with both hands. His hands were calloused, warm, and desperate. “Lena, look at me. You have to save her.”

I nodded, tears stinging my eyes. I climbed into the wooden box.

Dominic grabbed the ropes and hoisted me up. The muscles in his back strained as he pulled me away from the gunfire echoing below.

I reached the second floor and kicked open the wooden door, tumbling out onto the plush carpet of the hallway.

The second floor was quiet. Eerily quiet.

I sprinted toward Emma’s bedroom. The door was open.

The bed was empty.

“Emma!” I whispered frantically, checking the bathroom, the closet.

She wasn't there. Her little blue purse was sitting on the rug, abandoned.

A cold panic seized my chest. I ran back into the hallway, looking toward the grand staircase.

Standing at the top of the stairs was Vivienne.

She was holding a small, silver pistol. And her other hand was gripping Emma tightly by the arm.

“Hello, Lena,” Vivienne said, her red lipstick perfectly applied.

The reversal hit me like a physical blow. Victor hadn't betrayed Vivienne. Vivienne hadn't run away. She had been hiding in the house this whole time, waiting for the chaos to strike.

“Let her go, Vivienne,” I begged, taking a slow step forward.

“I can’t do that,” Vivienne smiled, a twisted, broken expression. “Victor promised me half the offshore accounts if I secured the insurance policy.” She pulled Emma closer. “And this little brat is the only leverage we have to make Dominic sign the transfer papers.”

Emma looked at me, her eyes wide with terror. She wasn't crying. She was completely silent, just like she had been when her mother died.

I took another step. I didn't have a weapon. All I had was the desperate need to keep my promise.