Chapter 8 - An Ambush on Lake Shore Drive
The black SUV crested the hill approaching the Romano estate.
Flames were already flickering from the lower terrace of the mansion, casting demonic orange shadows against the stormy night sky.
Gunfire echoed across the manicured lawns.
The front gates had been blown off their hinges by a heavy ram.
Our driver rammed the SUV through the smoking wreckage of the gatehouse, screeching to a halt near the eastern fountain.
“Marco, take three men and flank the main entrance!” Matteo ordered, kicking his door open into the roaring rain. “Claire, with me!”
We sprinted through the darkness, keeping low beneath the decorative hedge line.
The air was thick with the bitter smell of burning cedar, gunpowder, and sulfur.
Two enemy gunmen emerged from the shadows near the patio, assault rifles raised.
Matteo didn't hesitate.
He raised his weapon and fired two precise shots.
Both men dropped instantly to the wet grass.
“Go to the valve!” Matteo shouted, reloading seamlessly as he covered my flank.
I ran toward the rose garden, the rain stinging my eyes, mud splashing across my shoes.
Behind the stone trellis, I found the heavy iron cover of the air intake.
Thick gray smoke was already billowing near the grate.
If that smoke reached the safe room bunker below, Mrs. Romano wouldn't last ten minutes.
I knelt in the mud and gripped the rusted iron wheel of the shutoff valve.
It was jammed.
I gritted my teeth and pulled with all my strength.
The metal groaned, but it wouldn't budge.
Suddenly, a heavy boot struck my shoulder, knocking me hard into the wet earth.
I rolled onto my back, gasping for air.
Standing over me was Henderson, the former butler.
He was wearing a dark raincoat, holding a heavy wrench in his gloved hand.
His face was twisted into a cruel sneer.
“You should have stayed a maid, Claire,” Henderson snarled, raising the wrench to strike. “You shouldn't have looked at the medicine.”
I didn't freeze.
Adrenaline surged through my veins.
I scooped up a handful of wet mud and gravel from the ground and hurled it straight into his eyes.
Henderson roared in pain, stumbling backward, dropping the wrench to wipe the stinging grit from his face.
I grabbed the heavy wrench from the mud, stood up, and swung it with all my might against the shutoff valve wheel.
CLANG!
The rusted seal broke.
I threw my entire weight against the wheel, spinning it clockwise until it clicked firmly into the locked position.
The air intake hissed shut.
The panic bunker was sealed and safe.
Henderson wiped his eyes, his vision clearing, his face contorted in murderous rage.
He pulled a small revolver from his coat pocket and leveled it directly at my chest.
“Die, you little bitch.”
A deafening gunshot shattered the night.
Henderson’s eyes went wide.
A red bloom exploded across his chest.
He collapsed face-first into the rose bushes, motionless.
Behind him stood Matteo, his gun smoking, his chest heaving under the pouring rain.
He dropped the gun, ran to me, and pulled me into his arms, lifting me completely off the ground.
“Claire! Are you hurt?”
“The valve is shut,” I gasped, trembling against his chest. “Your mother is safe.”
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Matteo held me tighter, burying his face in my wet hair.
“You saved her. You saved us both.”
