Chapter 2 - Into the Darkness Below
The thunder of gunfire inside the vaulted dining room was deafening. The muzzle flash illuminated Declan’s harsh, cut-glass jawline as three armed men clad in dark tactical gear surged through the doorway.
Without hesitation, Declan shoved me, Mason, and Sophie flat behind the thick granite overhang of the decorative fireplace. He stepped into the open doorway, firing three quick, deliberate shots. The lead attacker collapsed backward, cluttering against the hardwood floor, while the remaining two scrambled behind the mahogany sideboard for cover.
"Elena! Take the kids through the pantry door on your right!" Declan roared over the deafening echoes. "There's a service latch behind the dish shelving! Go!"
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I grabbed Mason’s cold hand and scooped Sophie into my arms, the crushed chocolate cupcake still miraculously clutched in her small fingers. We scrambled into the adjacent butler's pantry just as heavy automatic fire shredded the plaster where we had been standing seconds prior.
Plaster dust filled the air like winter frost. Mason gasped, his young eyes wide with absolute terror. "Mom, is that man going to die?"
"No," I whispered, though my voice cracked. "Keep moving, baby. Hold onto my shirt."
I shoved aside a rack of heavy silver platters, finding the wooden panel Declan had described. A brass latch gleamed in the dim emergency lighting. I pulled it back, and a narrow stone staircase spiraled down into the damp, cold darkness beneath the mansion.
Before we could descend, Declan slipped into the pantry behind us. His dark suit jacket was torn at the shoulder, blood soaking through his white shirt, but his eyes were sharp, lethal, and focused. He slammed the panel door shut behind him and threw the iron deadbolt just as heavy boots hammered against the outer wood.
"They brought professionals," Declan grunted, his breathing heavy as he checked his weapon's magazine. "Nolan emptied his offshore accounts for this strike. He turned my own security team against me."
"Why?" I demanded, my hands shaking uncontrollably as I tried to check Mason for injuries. "He's your brother! Why would he bring war into your home?"
Declan looked down at the dark stone stairs, a bitter, hollow smile touching his lips. "Because three years ago, my father left sixty percent of the Rinaldi logistics empire to me. Nolan believed he inherited the rights to the city because he carried our father's cruel temper. He's been waiting for my thirty-eighth birthday—the day the final trust provisions activate—to wipe me off the board."
"Where does this tunnel lead?" I asked, pulling my children closer.
"To the old storm cellars near the shoreline," Declan answered. "It was built during Prohibition. There's an armored vehicle parked in the drainage cove. If we reach it, I can get you and the kids to safety."
A heavy explosion shook the ceiling above us. Dust rained down upon our hair. Nolan’s men were breaching the wooden pantry door with explosives.
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"No more talking," Declan said, taking Mason's hand in his warm, calloused palm. "Stay close. Don't look back."
We hurried down the spiraling stone stairs as the metal latch above gave way with a sickening wrench of tearing iron.
