Chapter 6 - THE STORM BREAKS
By midnight, a torrential autumn tempest had slammed into the Hudson Valley. Rain lashed against the heavy leaded windows of Duca Manor in violent, deafening sheets. Thunder rattled the antique brass light fixtures, and every few minutes, lightning illuminated the vast estate grounds in blinding, ghostly flashes of white.
Inside the master suite, Becca had made a makeshift nest of down comforters and heavy pillows on the floor.
The triplets were curled together like kittens, their breathing finally deep and steady. The heavy oak security doors were bolted shut; the green LED indicator of the electronic keypad glowed steadily in the darkness.
Becca sat on the edge of the massive four-poster bed, holding a mug of cold tea, unable to close her eyes.
Every crack of thunder sounded like a gunshot. Every gust of wind rattling the shutters felt like someone testing the latches. Valentino had left for the estate's detached security command center three hours ago to oversee the global asset freeze with his technical director.
Suddenly, the bedside lamp flickered.
Once. Twice.
Then the room plunged into pitch-black darkness.
Becca froze. The hum of the heavy central air conditioning died. Down the hallway, the faint red emergency backup lights did not click on.
A complete power kill.
"No," Becca whispered, jumping to her feet. The estate had three redundant diesel generators designed to kick in within four seconds of a main grid failure. Four seconds passed. Ten seconds. Nothing.
Silence rushed in, heavy and suffocating, punctuated only by the roaring downpour outside.
Then, from the keypad on the master bedroom door, came a sharp, synthetic chime:
*BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. CLICK.*
The heavy deadbolt turned.
Becca’s heart stopped. She lunged toward the children, scooping Clara and Sophie into her arms while grabbing Mia by the wrist. "Girls, wake up. Wake up now!"
The heavy mahogany door swung slowly open on oiled hinges.
Silhouetted against the dim lightning outside the hallway window stood Julian Vance. He wasn't wearing his camel coat. He was dressed in black tactical gear, his wet hair plastered against his forehead. In his right hand, gleaming dull under the occasional flash of lightning, was a suppressed semi-automatic pistol.
"You really should have taken the money, Rebecca," Julian said, his voice terrifyingly calm amid the thunder. "I had a wonderful narrative planned. The grief-stricken governess, overwhelmed by the pressure, taking the poor, damaged children for a late-night drive in the storm. Another tragic accident on the river road. Val would have been completely broken. Incapacitated. And as the sole trustee of the Duca estate and the Duca Corporation, I would have taken such good care of his empire."
Clara whimpered, burying her face into Becca’s neck.
"He knows, Julian," Becca said, backing away toward the suite’s private balcony doors, keeping her body between the gun and the children. "Valentino knows about the Cyprus accounts. He knows about the watch. You're already dead."
Julian chuckled, a low, wet sound. "Valentino is currently locked inside his reinforced command bunker at the bottom of the garden. The security director? Two million dollars wired to his wife's Swiss account made him see things my way. The bunker vents have been flooded with industrial halogen fire-suppressant gas. In about five minutes, my dear Val will be fast asleep forever. No messy gunshots. Just a tragic equipment failure during an electrical storm."
He raised the pistol, leveling it directly at Becca’s forehead.
"Step away from the girls, Rebecca. I'll make yours quick. A single round behind the ear. You won't feel a thing."
"Run!" Becca screamed.
May you like
She didn't run backward. With all the explosive energy built from years of fighting for survival, Becca grabbed the heavy bronze lamp from the nightstand and hurled it violently at Julian’s face.
***
