Chapter 3 - The Descent
My study was a sanctuary of dark leather, old books, and loaded weapons hidden in plain sight. I did not turn on the overhead lights. Instead, I sat behind my desk in the shadow, illuminated only by the pale light of my computer screen.
Victor thought he was the only one who had access to the security servers. He was wrong. Ten years ago, after my wife Elena was killed in what was supposed to be a secure safehouse, I had a private contractor install a completely independent, hardwired backup system. It ran on its own lithium battery bank, buried deep beneath the concrete foundation of the estate. It didn't connect to the internet, and it couldn't be wiped from the main terminal.
I pulled a small, black external drive from a hidden compartment in the desk and plugged it into my laptop.
I bypassed the main network and accessed the local directory for the west wing cameras—specifically, the camera pointing at the heavy oak stairs leading down to the wine cellar.
I set the timestamp to three nights ago, 11:30 PM.
The screen flickered, then cleared.
The hallway was dim, lit only by the low-wattage emergency lights. At 11:42 PM, the door to the master suite opened. Victoria stepped out, wearing a dark coat over her silk pajamas. She was holding a small leather pouch. She walked toward the cellar stairs, her movements hurried, her head turning to look back toward the master bedroom.
She went down the stairs.
Two minutes later, another figure appeared on the screen.
It was Mia Carter. She was holding a stack of freshly folded linens, likely on her way to the laundry chute. She paused, looking toward the cellar door, which had been left slightly ajar. She set the laundry down on a nearby chair and slowly followed Victoria down into the dark.
I leaned closer to the screen, my jaw clenching so hard my teeth ached.
At 11:48 PM, a third figure walked into the frame.
Victor Romano.
He didn't look hurried. He walked with his hands in his pockets, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He carried a heavy, black key ring—the master set that unlocked every door, every safe, and every gate on the Moretti property. He went down the stairs, closing the heavy oak door behind him.
The camera feed showed nothing but the empty hallway for nearly forty minutes.
Then, at 12:28 AM, Victor and Victoria emerged from the cellar stairs. Victoria was pale, her hands shaking as she clutched Victor’s arm. Victor was speaking to her, his face close to hers, his expression stern and commanding. He pulled her toward the master suite, kissed her briefly on the cheek, and then walked down the main hallway toward his own quarters.
Mia Carter never came back up.
I closed my laptop. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the steady, muffled roar of the rain outside.
My "brother," the man who had sworn an oath to protect me, had locked my housekeeper in a dark cellar. And my fiancée, the woman I had chosen to share my life with, had helped him do it.
I reached into the top drawer of my desk and pulled out my customized Beretta 9mm. I checked the chamber, slid the magazine back in with a soft click, and tucked it into the waistband of my trousers.
May you like
I didn't call my guards. In this house, I no longer knew who was paid by me and who was paid by Victor.
I had to go down alone.
