Chapter 4 - Shadows in the Hallway
"Stay behind me," Roman snapped, his hand instantly disappearing inside his jacket, reappearing with a heavy black Sig Sauer pistol that seemed to materialize out of thin air.
The casual, corporate detachment he wore like armor was entirely gone. In its place was the ruthless, coiled violence of a man trained to survive a war zone. Declan moved instantly to the opposite side of the doorway, drawing a matching weapon with practiced ease, while Gabriel dropped low beside the window, his thumb clicking off the safety with a sharp metallic snap.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. All my anger, all my confusion, vanished into the sudden, suffocating terror of a hunted animal.
"Who is it?" I whispered, pressing myself flat against the heavy velvet drapes.
"Professional," Roman muttered, his eyes fixed on the open doorway leading out to the dark hallway. "Amateurs make noise at the gate. Professionals bypass the security grid."
A heavy footstep creaked on the second-floor landing, moving with slow, deliberate precision toward the private staircase. It wasn't the clumsy rush of a burglar; it was the measured cadence of someone who knew the exact floor plan of Falcone Manor down to the last timber.
"They're heading for the west wing," Gabriel whispered, peering through a crack in the door. "Only three people outside our immediate circle have the keycode to override the inner biometric locks."
"And Mrs. Hess is downstairs in the pantry," Declan added, his voice ice-cold. "Which means someone inside our inner circle just sold us out."
Roman turned his head slightly, his dark eyes locking onto mine for a fraction of a second. In that brief, terrifying look, I didn't see a mob boss or a stranger; I saw a brother desperately trying to keep the last piece of his sister alive.
"Maeve," Roman said quietly, stepping closer and shoving the small iron key we found in the desk into my palm. "Take the service ladder behind the wardrobe. It leads down to the old wine cellar. There's a tunnel out to the cliffs. Take the truck parked by the pump house and don't stop driving until you hit the state line."
"And leave you here?" I stared at him, my fingers closing around the cold iron key. "Are you out of your mind? If I run now, I'm running blind. I want answers about my mother, and I'm not going anywhere until I get them."
"This isn't a negotiation," Roman snarled, raising his weapon as a shadow flickered across the wall outside the room. "If you stay, you die."
"Then I die," I said, stepping past him and grabbing a heavy brass candlestick off the mantelpiece. My hands were shaking, but my footing was rock-solid. "My mother spent twenty-five years running from these bastards, and look where it got her. I am done running."
Before Roman could curse or drag me toward the hidden panel, the door to the sitting room was kicked open with a thunderous crash that splintered the mahogany frame.
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A masked figure stood in the doorway, silhouette against the gray light of the hallway, holding a suppressed automatic rifle leveled directly at Roman's chest.
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