Chapter 5 - THE SERVICE STAIRS AND THE SHADOWS
The service staircase was narrow, uncarpeted, and pitch-black.
My flats slapped frantically against the wooden steps as I descended into the bowels of the Romano mansion, the heavy canvas suitcase banging against my knees with every stride.
Above me, muffled by thick walls and heavy timber, I heard the sound of Viktor kicking violently against the service door.
CRASH.
The wood groaned under his massive frame. He was going to splinter the latch within seconds.
I reached the bottom of the stairs, bursting out into the dim, cool corridor of the ground-floor service wing near the industrial kitchens.
The house was dead silent.
Where were the guards? Where was Gabriel?
If Viktor had been sent upstairs to eliminate us, it meant Raymond had already made his move in the dining room.
I clutched the blue suitcase tighter, darting past the gleaming stainless-steel prep tables of the kitchen and heading toward the grand foyer where the main staircase led down to the banquet hall.
As I approached the arched entrance of the hallway, a heavy hand suddenly clamped over my mouth from behind, lifting my feet off the floor and yanking me sideways into the shadows of the linen closet.
I gasped, thrashing wildly, dropping the suitcase. It hit the hardwood floor with a dull thud.
"Shh! Quiet, it's me!" a low, urgent voice whispered right in my ear.
I stopped struggling.
The strong, familiar scent of expensive cologne and ozone broke through my panic.
It wasn't Viktor.
It was Gabriel.
He pulled me deeper into the darkness of the closet, pressing his back against the louvered doors, his chest heaving, his dark eyes wide and wild with adrenaline. There was a fresh, shallow scratch across his jawline, and the cuff of his tailored white shirt was stained with dark blood.
"Gabriel," I gasped the moment his hand left my mouth, leaning against him for support. "Viktor—he's upstairs. He tried to shoot us. He's looking for the blue suitcase."
Gabriel looked down at the canvas bag resting on the floor between us.
"I know," Gabriel whispered fiercely. "Raymond brought a dozen armed men into the dining room under the guise of an 'emergency family council.' They tried to take me custody under a forged commission order."
"Did you... did you stop them?" I asked, my heart pounding against his chest.
A grim, humorless smile touched his lips.
"My security detail held the line," Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a lethal register. "Raymond’s men are currently tied up in the east wing holding cells. But Raymond slipped away during the chaos. He's heading for the private helipad behind the stables."
I stared at him, the horrifying realization dawning on me. "He's running."
"Not if we stop him," Gabriel replied. He reached down, picked up the blue suitcase, and gripped my hand tightly in his large, warm palm. "You found it, Claire. You risked your life for my family's history."
"Margaret is still upstairs in the study," I said quickly, panic flaring in my chest. "Viktor is right behind her!"
"I already sent my head of security to extract her," Gabriel reassured me, giving my hand a firm, grounding squeeze. "She's safe. But right now, we need to finish what my father started twenty-three years ago."
He pulled me out of the closet into the hallway, heading straight toward the rear glass doors that opened out onto the moonlit gardens leading toward the stables.
"Gabriel," I whispered as we sprinted across the damp lawn under the cold Chicago moon. "What's in that suitcase isn't just proof about your mother... it's a weapon. And Raymond knows that if you reach the helipad with it, his entire empire dies tonight."
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Gabriel didn't slow down. His jaw was set, his dark eyes fixed entirely on the flashing red beacon of the private helicopter idling near the stables.
"Then let's finish it," he said.
