Chapter 3 – Blood On The Imported Rug

The gunshot was deafening.

It echoed off the vaulted ceiling, silencing the screams of the fifty guests.

Luca collapsed backward, his heavy frame knocking me to the floor.

“Luca!” Michael screamed.

My ears were ringing. I pushed myself up, my hands pressing into the thick, imported rug.

It was wet.

Not with wine this time. With blood.

Luca was clutching his left shoulder. His black suit jacket was instantly soaked, but his eyes were blazing.

“Get her out of here!” Luca roared at Michael.

The dining room doors finally gave way. They crashed open, splintering off their hinges.

Three men in dark suits stormed into the room, guns drawn.

“Take the brother,” Arthur commanded, pointing his cane at Michael. “And grab the maid. She’s our insurance.”

Vanessa grabbed her father’s arm. “Dad, no! You said no one would get hurt!”

“You weak, pathetic girl,” Arthur spat, shoving her aside so hard she fell into the banquet table.

One of the armed men lunged toward me.

But Michael was faster.

He grabbed the heavy silver candelabra from the center of the table and swung it with all his might, catching the man squarely in the jaw.

The man crumpled.

“Emily, run!” Michael yelled, pulling me up by my arm.

“We can’t leave him!” I cried, looking at Luca, who was struggling to his knees.

“Go!” Luca ordered, his teeth gritted in pain. “The servants’ stairs. Go!”

I knew this house better than anyone. I knew every hallway, every hidden door, every blind spot.

I grabbed Michael’s hand and pulled him toward the heavy velvet curtains at the back of the room.

Behind those curtains was a narrow service door used to clear dishes.

We slipped through just as a second gunshot shattered a crystal vase where we had just been standing.

We spilled into the dark, narrow service corridor.

“Lock it,” Michael gasped.

I slammed the heavy iron deadbolt just as bodies slammed against the other side.

We stood in the pitch-black hallway, both of us panting.

“You’re bleeding,” I whispered in the dark.

“It’s not mine,” Michael said. “It’s Luca’s.”

My heart twisted. The man had taken a bullet for a maid he barely knew.

“Why did Arthur want me?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Why did Vanessa recognize my mother’s name?”

Michael clicked on his phone flashlight.

In the harsh white light, he looked terrified.

“Emily,” Michael said slowly. “Four years ago, when Luca’s son was born… Vanessa told everyone he died. But she really hired a woman to take the baby far away. A woman desperate for money.”

I backed away against the cold stone wall.

“No.”

“She paid a nanny to take him and hide him,” Michael said.

“No,” I repeated, tears blurring my vision.

“Emily, your mother didn’t just pawn that bracelet for your college tuition,” Michael whispered. “She pawned it to buy baby clothes. Your mother is the one hiding Luca’s son.”

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