Chapter 3 – THE RUSSIAN ASSAULT

The basement office shook as an explosion rocked the upper floor of the mansion.

Dust rained down from the ceiling. The single overhead bulb flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness for three terrifying seconds before the red emergency lights kicked on.

“Marcus!” Luca roared over the sound of automatic gunfire echoing down the stairs. “Secure the perimeter! Get my grandfather to the panic room!”

“Yes, Boss!” Marcus drew his weapon and sprinted into the hallway.

Luca turned to Patricia. The household manager was cowering under the metal desk, her hands clamped over her ears.

“Get up,” Luca ordered, grabbing her by the collar of her expensive blouse and hauling her to her feet. “You’re getting us out of here.”

“They’re going to kill us!” Patricia sobbed, the polished enforcer completely broken by the reality of a syndicate war.

“They’re going to kill you,” Luca corrected, shoving her toward the door. “Unless you show me the Petrov file.”

Answer one: Patricia’s blackmail ledger didn’t just contain payment records. It contained the details of the Petrov transaction.

“There is no file!” Patricia cried.

“Don’t lie to me!” Luca yelled, pinning her against the concrete wall. “You kept leverage on my father for seventeen years. You wouldn’t do that without keeping the proof of the trade. Where is it?”

Patricia squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s in the clock.”

Hannah froze. “What?”

“The base of the grandfather clock,” Patricia choked out. “There’s a false bottom. That’s where Daniel Brooks hid the documents before your father forced him out.”

Open two: If Daniel Brooks hid the documents seventeen years ago, why didn’t he take them with him? And why did he mark the lever if he knew it was a fail-safe?

“We have to get to the clock,” Hannah said, looking at Luca.

“The clock is in the main hallway,” Luca said, pulling his own weapon from his shoulder holster. “Right in the middle of the firefight.”

Another explosion rattled the walls. Smoke began drifting down the basement stairs.

“Stay behind me,” Luca told Hannah. He looked at Patricia. “You walk in front.”

Using Patricia as a human shield, Luca led them up the narrow service stairs. They emerged into the kitchen. The stainless steel appliances were riddled with bullet holes. The back doors had been blown off their hinges.

Through the archway, Hannah could see the main hallway.

The grandfather clock was still standing, untouched, as chaos raged around it.

Three men in heavy tactical gear, wearing black balaclavas, were advancing toward the main staircase. They were speaking rapid Russian, laying down suppressive fire while Luca’s guards fired back from the second-floor landing.

“I can’t go out there!” Patricia screamed, trying to pull back.

“You don’t have a choice,” Luca said coldly.

Before Luca could push her forward, a fourth tactical intruder stepped into the kitchen from the service entrance behind them.

The man raised a suppressed submachine gun, aiming directly at Luca’s back.

Hannah saw the laser sight paint a red dot between Luca’s shoulder blades.

She didn’t think. She grabbed the heavy iron skillet from the stovetop next to her and swung it with all her strength.

The heavy cast iron collided with the intruder’s helmet with a sickening crack. The man stumbled, his burst of gunfire going wide, shattering the kitchen window.

Luca spun around and fired twice, dropping the man to the tile floor.

He looked at Hannah, chest heaving. “Nice swing.”

“I clean this kitchen every day,” Hannah breathed, gripping the handle of the skillet. “I know where the heavy pots are.”

Luca gave a tight, impressed nod. “Let’s move.”

They crept into the dining room, using the overturned heavy mahogany tables for cover. They were ten feet away from the grandfather clock.

“I need to open the base,” Hannah whispered to Luca. “But it requires two hands. I’ll be exposed.”

“I’ll cover you,” Luca promised. He looked at Patricia. “You help her, or I shoot you myself.”

Luca leaned over the table, providing covering fire, forcing the intruders in the hallway to duck behind the marble pillars.

“Go!” Luca yelled.

Hannah scrambled across the floor on her hands and knees, dragging Patricia with her. They reached the base of the towering walnut clock.

“Where is it?” Hannah demanded, her hands shaking as bullets chipped the plaster above their heads.

“Under the pendulum box,” Patricia whimpered, pointing to a small, nearly invisible seam in the wood. “Press the two brass rosettes at the bottom.”

Hannah pressed the decorative brass circles. A hidden panel popped open with a click.

Inside was a thick, sealed manila envelope.

Hannah grabbed it.

Just as she pulled the envelope free, a Russian intruder stepped out from behind a pillar, his weapon raised, pointing directly at Hannah.

He was too close. Luca couldn’t get a clear shot without hitting Hannah.

The intruder placed his finger on the trigger.

Suddenly, a massive, heavy cane slammed into the back of the intruder’s knees.

The man buckled, his shot going wild into the ceiling.

Standing behind the intruder, breathing heavily, was Antonio Moretti.

“Nobody touches this family anymore,” the eighty-three-year-old patriarch growled.

He raised a small, pearl-handled revolver and shot the intruder in the chest.

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