Chapter 44 - Blood on the Marble
Before I could protest, Gordon stepped through the concealed threshold, intentionally kicking over an ornate bronze umbrella stand. The metallic crash echoed through the marble hallway like a gunshot.
"Target sighted, second floor corridor!" a voice barked below.
Gordon fired three rapid, deafening shots toward the landing, immediately drawing the suppressing fire of two automatic rifles. Plaster exploded from the walls, shower of dust and splinters raining down as Gordon darted down the north wing, leading the assault team directly away from the south wing where Leo slept.
I moved with ruthless efficiency. Keeping low against the baseboards, I slipped through the shadowed hall toward my son’s quarters. The heavy smell of cordite and ozone filled the air. Outside the nursery door, Samuel stood over the slumped body of an intruder, his sidearm smoking.
"Eleanor!" Samuel exhaled in relief, stepping aside to let me enter. "The boy is unharmed. He’s dressed and ready."
Inside the safe room, seven-year-old Leo sat on the edge of the bed, holding his favorite wooden sailboat. His eyes were wide with fear, but when he saw my face, he swallowed his tears, emulating the courage I had tried so hard to instill in him.
"Mommy?" he whispered. "Is it Daddy again?"
"No, sweetheart," I said, wrapping him in a warm wool coat and pulling him into a tight, fierce embrace. "Daddy is gone. But Mommy is right here, and no one in this world is ever going to take you from me."
"We have two minutes before they realize Gordon is a decoy," Samuel warned, reloading his magazine with a sharp metallic snap. "The courtyard is swarming, but the private wine cellar tunnel is clear. Let's move."
We descended the narrow stone steps beneath the estate, moving deep into the cliffside foundations where Marcus Apex had stored his rarest vintages. The air was damp and smelled of aged oak and sea salt. Behind us, distant concussions shook the foundations as Gordon fought a fighting retreat across the upper terraces.
We reached the heavy iron grate that concealed the passage to the subterranean boat dock. Samuel shoved the iron bolt aside, swinging the grate open. Beyond lay the churning waters of the underground inlet, where a twin-engine tactical launch rocked gently against the wooden pilings.
Just as I helped Leo step onto the gangway, the heavy steel door behind us slammed open with a deafening bang.
Standing at the top of the stone stairs was Helena Apex, flanked by two armed operatives. Her face, framed by the cold illumination of tactical flashlights, was devoid of human warmth—a mask of pure, aristocratic malice.
"How touching," Helena remarked, stepping down the stairs with imperial grace, ignoring the dampness of the stones. "The doting mother until the bitter end. Marcus always said you had sentimental weaknesses, Eleanor. That was why Julian was permitted to discard you."
Samuel raised his weapon, but the laser sights of the two operatives instantly converged on his chest.
"Put it down, Captain," Helena said coldly. "Or the boy watches your skull decorate the cellar walls."
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I stepped firmly between Helena’s men and my son, shielding Leo entirely from their view.
"You should have stayed dead in Zurich, Helena," I said, my voice echoing with an icy authority that made the two mercenaries tense. "Because out here in the light, you are nothing more than a fugitive with a frozen bank account."
