Chapter 7 - The Trap in the Snow
By the end of my first week at the estate, a comfortable routine had settled over our lives.
Every morning, I woke Belle up, helped her dress in her cute little sweaters, and sat with her at the massive dining table while Harlan read the morning financial papers.
Belle was thriving. Her heart monitors showed stable readings, her laughter filled the quiet halls of the limestone castle, and she clung to me like a shadow.
On Friday afternoon, the winter sun broke through the clouds, painting the snow-covered estate grounds in dazzling white light.
“Rue! Can we build a snowman? Please!” Belle pleaded, tugging at my denim jeans in the sunroom.
I looked out the window at the manicured garden. Four armed guards were posted along the perimeter wall, keeping watch.
“Ask your dad,” I smiled, nodding toward Harlan, who was sitting at his mahogany desk near the window, reviewing shipping manifests.
Harlan looked up from his papers. “Twenty minutes. Stay within sight of the terrace. Viktor, accompany them.”
“Yes, Don Harlan,” Viktor, the giant chief of security, nodded from the doorway.
Ten minutes later, Belle and I were bundled up in heavy wool coats, boots, and scarves, rolling heavy snowballs across the pristine terrace lawn. Belle was giggling hysterically, attempting to stick a baby carrot into the snowman’s face.
Suddenly, a loud, sharp CRACK echoed through the freezing air.
THUD!
Viktor, standing ten feet away on the stone steps, let out a grunt as a high-caliber sniper round tore through his right shoulder, dropping the massive security chief onto the bloody snow.
“SNIPER! GET DOWN!” Viktor roared, pulling his firearm with his left hand.
Panic erupted.
Before I could process the sound, a second bullet whistled past my ear, exploding into the stone pillar behind us in a shower of sparks and gray dust.
Belle shrieked in absolute terror, freezing in place on the open snow.
My instincts took over. I didn't think. I didn't freeze.
I dove across the snow, wrapping my body around Belle, pinning her tiny frame beneath me as two more high-powered rounds slammed into the ground inches from my boots.
“RUE!” Harlan’s voice roared from the terrace doors.
The heavy glass doors blew outward as Harlan sprinted onto the snow, holding a heavy black assault rifle. He didn't take cover. He stood tall on the open steps, raising the rifle toward the tree line five hundred yards away.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Harlan unleashed a hail of heavy caliber fire into the distant pine trees. A figure in a white camouflage suit tumbled out of a high tree branch, crashing dead onto the snow below.
Harlan sprinted across the lawn, sliding on his knees onto the bloody snow beside us.
His face was a mask of apocalyptic rage, his chest heaving, his hands trembling as he grabbed me by my shoulders, pulling me and Belle up into his massive chest.
“Are you hit?! Rue! Look at me!” Harlan roared, his hands frantically scanning my coat for blood.
“I’m... I’m okay,” I wheezed, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs. “Belle... is Belle hurt?!”
Belle pulled her face out of my coat, crying hysterically, but completely uninjured. “Rue... Rue saved me, Daddy!”
Harlan pulled us both tightly against his body, burying his face into the crook of my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin.
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“Thank God,” Harlan choked out, a sound so raw and human it shattered his stone-cold mob boss persona entirely. “Thank God for you, Rue.”
He lifted Belle in his left arm, grabbed my hand tightly in his right, and pulled us toward the mansion as twenty more armed guards flooded the grounds, locking down the estate in total red-alert lockdown.
