Chapter 6 - The Echoes of the West Wing
The perimeter alarm shrieked through the mansion like a dying beast, its high-pitched wail bouncing off the marble pillars and vibrating straight through the floorboards of the hidden alcove.
Leo dropped into a tactical crouch, his hand clearing leather in a fluid, practiced motion, his eyes fixed on the narrow opening of the wainscoting panel. "Boss, we've got movement. Multiple signatures on the west perimeter infrared grid. They bypassed the outer gates without tripping the code."
Dominic didn't hesitate. He thrust the leather ledger and the adoption decree into my hands with a grip so fierce it nearly bruised my wrists.
"Clara, take these," he ordered, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp command register that left no room for argument. "If anything happens to me, you take that ledger straight out of this house. Do not trust the local police. Go directly to federal custody."
"Wait, what?" I clutched the heavy ledger against my chest, the cold leather pressing through my pink satin robe. "I'm a house-sitter, Dominic, not an international courier! Who is out there?"
"People who thought this room stayed buried forever," Dominic snarled. He turned to Leo, his face set in hard, cold lines. "Leo, secure the perimeter exit through the basement tunnels. Get Clara to the secondary garage."
"Not happening, boss," Leo barked back, his gaze locked on the hallway shadow just beyond the door. "They're already in the parlor. They didn't break in—they used a master override key."
A master override key.
That meant whoever was walking through the west wing wasn't an ordinary intruder or a rival crew executing a hit. They had the codes. They had authorization.
The heavy thud of leather-soled shoes echoed down the polished oak corridor outside, moving with terrifying deliberation toward the formal parlor.
Dominic stepped out of the alcove, pulling me behind his broad shoulder. He didn't have a weapon drawn, but the sheer, suffocating aura of quiet menace radiating from him made the air in the room feel heavy.
"Stay behind me, Clara," he whispered.
May you like
The parlor double doors swung wide open with a slow, theatrical creak, and framed in the entryway stood a tall, silver-haired man in a bespoke charcoal overcoat, flanked by two armed guards holding suppressors.
Vincent Caruso.
