Chapter 7 - The Breach
The main hallway was pitch black.
The circuit breakers for the eastern wing had been killed from the basement—a tactical blackout that told Hannah everything she needed to know. Walter hadn't acted alone. Marcus Vance’s men were already inside the house.
She ran down the back service stairs, her breath coming in ragged, freezing gasps, her heart pounding at one hundred and forty beats per minute.
She reached the ground floor near the kitchen.
The heavy iron door leading to the courtyard was wide open, letting in a swirl of freezing snow and the faint, unmistakable smell of copper—fresh blood.
Lying on the tile floor near the pantry was one of Dominic’s guards, his neck bent at an impossible angle.
Hannah dropped to her knees beside him instinctively, her fingers reaching for his carotid artery. Nothing. No pulse. He had been dead for less than two minutes.
“She’s down here!” a harsh voice barked from the darkness near the dining room.
Hannah scrambled backward as two men in heavy tactical gear burst through the swinging doors, their automatic weapons raised.
She didn't try to run toward the front hall. She turned and sprinted through the laundry corridor, heading directly toward the heavy reinforced door that led to Eleanor’s private wing.
She slammed her shoulder against the iron handle, threw herself inside, and slammed the heavy oak door shut, throwing the double brass bolts into place just as a burst of automatic gunfire tore through the wood panels from the outside.
“Eleanor!” Hannah screamed, running through the sitting room.
Eleanor Moretti stood near her bed, wearing a dark velvet robe, a small ivory-handled revolver held in her fragile, steady hand. She didn't look panicked; her eyes were filled with the cold, ancient fire of a woman who had survived three mafia wars in Chicago.
“Where is Dominic?” Eleanor asked, her voice firm.
“The docks,” Hannah gasped, locking the inner door. “Walter betrayed you! He let Vance’s men through the basement tunnels!”
Eleanor didn't waste time cursing. She walked over to her nightstand, pressed a hidden button beneath the brass lamp, and picked up a secure red landline receiver that bypassed the house’s main communications board.
“Dominic,” Eleanor said into the receiver, her tone completely calm. “The house is breached. Walter was the mole. Bring everyone.”
She set the receiver down, looked at Hannah, and handed her the small ivory revolver.
“Do you know how to use this?” Eleanor asked.
Hannah looked at the gun. “I’m a doctor. I know where the major arteries are.”
A cold, vicious smirk touched Eleanor’s lips. “Good girl.”
Outside the heavy door, the sound of heavy boots approached, followed by the metallic thud of a sledgehammer striking the wood.
CRACK.
The brass bolts groaned under the force of the strike.
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“They’ll be through in twenty seconds,” Hannah whispered, her hand wrapping tightly around the ivory grip of the revolver, aligning her posture, dropping her center of gravity just as her father had taught her years ago.
“Let them come,” Eleanor said quietly, settling into her armchair as if waiting for afternoon tea. “My son is four minutes away.”
