Chapter 7 - The Poisoner's Hand
Shards of heavy glass rained down from the conservatory’s ceiling like jagged knives.
“GET DOWN!”
Dominic moved with terrifying speed, lunging forward and tackling both me and Vivian behind the thick concrete lip of the marble fountain. A second bullet struck the stone inches from where my head had been, sending pulverized concrete into my hair.
Vivian cried out, curling into a ball as the remote detonator tumbled from her fingers.
Across the shattered mezzanine of the greenhouse, five tactical operatives in black balaclavas advanced along the catwalks, their rifles fitted with suppressors. Leading them down the central spiral staircase was Anthony Caruso.
He had shed his expensive Italian wool coat for a tactical vest. In his hand, he held a sleek submachine gun, his handsome face twisted into a sneer of pure megalomania.
“I must admit, Dominic, you’re harder to kill than our dear Elena!” Anthony called out, his voice echoing through the botanical rotunda. “First the hearth fails, then my sniper misses in the rain. You always were stubborn!”
Dominic checked his weapon, peering through the foliage. “You signed your own death warrant, Anthony! The council will tear you apart for this!”
Anthony laughed—a harsh, barking sound that sent chills down my spine. “The council? The council is already dead, brother! Vincent Moretti’s hit squads struck their downtown offices twenty minutes ago. As of right now, I am the sole surviving heir of the Caruso family. By tomorrow morning, the police will find three bodies in this conservatory: Dominic Caruso, executed by the deranged twin sister of his dead wife, and the meddling nurse who got caught in the crossfire!”
“You poisoned Elena!” Vivian shrieked from behind the fountain, tears of rage blinding her. “She was your sister-in-law! She loved you like a brother!”
“She was a pawn!” Anthony shouted back, signaling his men to flank the fountain from both sides. “Our father was an idiot who gave everything to Dominic, and Elena’s father was an arrogant bastard who looked down on me! She caught me skimming forty million from the Calumet accounts. She was going to tell Dominic. I gave her the thallium to keep her quiet. When she wouldn't stop prying, I let the fireplace finish the job!”
I looked at Dominic. His jaw was set like granite, his eyes burning with an icy, lethal focus. He reached out and squeezed my hand tightly.
“Claire, when I start shooting, you and Vivian crawl through the subterranean drainage trench behind the fern wall,” Dominic whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “Marcus has the exit covered.”
“I’m not leaving you!” I protested, my voice catching in my throat. “There are five of them!”
“I am Dominic Caruso,” he said softly, a dark, fierce pride gleaming in his eyes. “Nobody takes what is mine. Now go!”
Dominic broke cover, rolling to the left and firing with pinpoint precision.
Two rapid gunshots echoed through the glasshouse. The lead mercenary on the catwalk crumpled, tumbling over the railing into the tropical foliage below. Dominic fired three more rounds, forcing Anthony’s flankers to dive for cover behind the heavy palm planters.
“MOVE!” Dominic roared.
I grabbed Vivian by the collar of her coat and dragged her across the wet flagstones toward the low archway of the drainage trench. Bullets chewed through the soil around our feet, shredding leaves and shattering terra-cotta pots.
Vivian scrambled into the narrow brick tunnel ahead of me. I turned back for a split second.
Dominic was engaged in a brutal firefight, using the massive trunk of an ancient fig tree as cover. But as he leaned out to fire, an automatic burst from Anthony’s gun caught him in the right shoulder.
Blood sprayed across the white bark. Dominic stumbled, his gun clattering across the wet stone.
“DOMINIC!” I screamed.
Anthony stepped out from behind a pillar, grinning like a demon, raising his weapon straight at Dominic’s chest.
“Goodbye, big brother.”
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Without thinking, driven by pure instinct and an overwhelming terror of losing the man who had shielded me with his life, I grabbed the heavy brass nozzle of an industrial irrigation hose coiled beside the tunnel entrance, cranked the high-pressure valve, and hurled the brass head with all my strength straight at Anthony’s face.
***
