Chapter 8 - The Viper Strikes
The peace of the estate was broken three weeks later on a rainy Tuesday evening.
Vincent was downtown finalizing the legal adoption papers that would officially designate Sarah as his legal daughter-in-law and Tommy as his primary beneficiary. Only Frankie and four senior security guards remained on duty at the estate, patrolling the vast grounds.
Inside the nursery, Sarah was tucking Tommy into his bed. The little boy was fast asleep, his small chest rising and falling rhythmically, clutching a plush wolf stuffed toy Vincent had bought him.
Suddenly, the lights in the house flickered and died. The entire estate was plunged into pitch-black darkness.
Sarah froze, her heart instantly leaping into her throat. "Mrs. Gable?" she called out into the hallway.
No answer.
Outside, the heavy silence was shattered by the muted pop-pop-pop of suppressed gunfire.
Downstairs, Frankie was standing near the grand staircase when the security monitors went dead. He drew his heavy 9mm pistol instantly. "Guard the perimeter! We have a breach!" he shouted into his radio, but only static answered him.
The heavy glass back doors were shattered. Three armed men in dark tactical gear burst into the foyer, led by none other than Paulie Varga.
"Clear the house!" Paulie ordered, his eyes wild with desperate rage. "Find the girl and the brat! Do it fast before the old man gets back!"
Frankie stepped out from behind a marble pillar, opening fire. One of Paulie's men dropped to the floor, but the other returned fire, pinning Frankie behind the stone column.
"Go upstairs!" Paulie yelled to his remaining man. "Get the kid!"
Upstairs, Sarah heard the heavy footsteps pounding up the carpeted staircase. Terror, pure and primal, surged through her veins. She didn't scream. She didn't panic. The instinct that had kept her and Tommy alive on the streets for four years took over completely.
She grabbed a heavy brass candlestick from the nightstand, locked the nursery door from the inside, and pulled the heavy oak wardrobe across the door frame, wedging it firmly against the handle.
Then she scooped Tommy out of bed. The boy woke up, frightened and crying. "Mama? What's happening?"
"Shh, baby, stay quiet," Sarah whispered, carrying him into the small attached closet. She hid him beneath a pile of heavy winter coats. "Stay here. Do not make a sound, no matter what happens. Promise me, Tommy!"
"I promise, Mama," Tommy sobbed quietly, clutching his plush wolf toy to his chest.
CRACK!
The nursery door groaned as a heavy shoulder slammed against it from the outside. The wood splintered around the lock.
"Open the door, bitch!" a man's harsh voice roared from the hallway. "Open it or I'll blow it off the hinges!"
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Sarah stood in the center of the dark nursery, holding the heavy brass candlestick with both hands, her teeth set, her eyes burning with a fierce, motherly fury. She was no longer a timid waitress. She was a mother protecting her child.
"Come and get me, you bastard," she whispered into the dark.
