Chapter 7 - The Trap in the Dark
"He recognized you tonight," Ricardo said, his tone turning crisp, calculated, and deadly. "Which means Victor knows his window of opportunity is closing. He brought a strike team to this party, hiding them among the secondary security staff."
"What are we going to do?" I asked, standing up from the chair. The fear that had controlled my life for five years was suddenly replaced by a fierce, burning resolve. I wasn't that helpless twenty-one-year-old girl hiding behind a dumpster anymore.
"We force his hand," Ricardo replied, walking to a hidden safe behind a bookshelf and pulling out two compact tactical firearms. "Victor came here tonight for two things: to secure full control of the syndicate by eliminating me, and to silence the last witness to Sophia's murder."
He handed me a small, lightweight pistol. "Do you know how to use this?"
"My father was a police officer," I said, checking the magazine with practiced ease. "I know how to shoot."
A faint, proud smile touched Ricardo’s lips for a split second. "Good. Frank has already evacuated the civilian guests through the subterranean tunnels. The estate is locked down. Victor thinks he’s hunting us, but he's stepping straight into my kill box."
"Where is Leo?" I asked immediately.
"Leo is safe in a fortified bunker three floors beneath the foundation," Ricardo assured me. "Only Frank and I have the access codes. Right now, our priority is clearing the main floor."
Suddenly, the lights in the study flickered and went pitch black.
The heavy oak door of the study shattered inward with a thunderous blast.
"Down!" Ricardo roared, tackling me to the floor behind the heavy mahogany desk just as a spray of automatic gunfire tore through the leather chairs and glass cabinets above our heads.
Dust and splinters filled the dark room. Ricardo instantly leaned over the desk, firing three controlled shots into the doorway. Two loud thuds echoed in the hall as Victor's lead mercenaries collapsed to the floor.
"Move to the west wing!" Ricardo yelled over the roaring gunfire, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the private escape door hidden behind the wall tapestries.
"Why the west wing?" I yelled back as we sprinted down the dark, secret corridor.
"Because the gallery has no exterior windows and only one entry point," Ricardo replied, his voice calm amidst the chaos. "And because that's where Victor will go to finish this. He thinks he can burn Sophia's memory to the ground."
We burst into the grand gallery of the west wing. The portraits of Sophia looked down on us in the dim moonlight.
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Ricardo locked the heavy double doors behind us, turning off the interior lights, plunging us into total shadow. We took cover behind the grand black piano, our weapons raised, waiting in the heavy, suffocating silence.
Minutes felt like hours. Then, the heavy brass handles of the double doors began to rattle.
