30. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Alina
The mansion shook again. Harder this time.
Alina stumbled, catching herself on the wall. The guard beside her steadied her with one hand, weapon raised with the other.
“Stay behind me,” he said.
“I’m trying,” she snapped, “but the floor keeps moving!”
Another thud rattled the windows. The guard cursed under his breath. “They’re testing the shutters.”
“Testing?” she repeated, the word tasting like ash. “What does that mean?”
“Like they’re trying to break them.”
“Oh. Great. Love that.”
Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it so fast she nearly dropped it.
Dante: I’m close. Don’t move.
Her breath hitched. She typed back: Hurry. Please.
Before she could hit send, the lights flickered again and died. The mansion plunged into darkness.
Alina froze. “Oh no. No, no, no—”
The guard clicked on a flashlight. The beam shook—not because of the light, but because his hand was trembling.
“Backup generators should have kicked in,” he muttered.
“Should have?” she repeated. “Why didn’t they?”
He didn’t answer. A cold knot formed in her stomach; he didn’t know, which meant the Vescari had planned for everything.
Dante’s phone buzzed. He grabbed it instantly. Alina’s name. A message.
He opened it: Hurry. Please.
His chest tightened. He hit call. The line rang once. Twice. Then—static.
“Come on,” he growled. “Come on—”
More static. Then nothing.
Luca swore. “They’re jamming the signal.”
Dante slammed his fist against the dashboard. “Drive faster.”
“We’re already—”
“FASTER.”
Luca didn’t argue. The SUV surged forward.
A sound echoed through the mansion. Not a bang. Not a thud. A scrape. Metal against metal. Slow. Deliberate. Wrong.
Alina’s blood ran cold. “What was that?”
The guard swallowed. “They’re trying to pry the shutters.”
“Can they?”
“Not easily.”
“Not easily is not the same as no.”
He didn’t deny it. Another scrape. Closer. Alina backed up until she hit the wall. “We need to move.”
“We’re trying to get the panic room open.”
“Trying?!”
He pressed his palm to the scanner again. Nothing. He cursed. “The system's fried.”
“Because they jammed it?”
“Yes.”
“So we’re stuck out here?”
“For now.”
“Oh my god.”
Another scrape. Then—a crack.
The guard raised his weapon. “Stay behind me.”
Alina grabbed the nearest object—a heavy metal candleholder—because if she was going down, she was going down swinging. Her hands were so cold she could feel her pulse in her fingertips.
“Dante,” she whispered, “please get here.”
The mansion came into view. Dark. Silent. Wrong.
Dante’s heart stopped. “No lights,” Luca said. “That’s bad.”
Dante didn’t answer. He floored the accelerator. The SUV tore up the driveway, gravel spraying behind them. Dante’s pulse roared in his ears. He could feel her fear, the danger, the seconds slipping away.
“Hold on, Alina,” he whispered.
The mansion loomed closer.
The scraping sound returned, closer this time: metal groaning under immense pressure. Alina’s blood ran cold.
“They’re still trying to pry the shutters,” the guard said, his voice tight.
“Will they?”
“I don’t know.”
He just pressed his palm to the panic room scanner again. Nothing. “The system's fried,” he cursed.
The emergency lights flickered on, dim red strips casting the hallway in a hellish glow.
Alina’s breath hitched. “Oh, that’s comforting.”
The guard didn’t laugh. He just stared into the shadows as a new sound cut through the silence. Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Inside the mansion.
Alina’s blood ran cold. “Someone’s in here.”
The guard stiffened. “Stay behind me.”
“I am behind you!”
He moved forward, sweeping the hallway with his flashlight. The beam shook slightly—not from the light, but from his hand. Alina followed, her heart pounding so hard she felt it in her teeth.
The footsteps stopped. Silence. Then, a whisper. Not words—just breath. Close. Too close.
Alina froze. “Did you hear—”
A shadow moved at the end of the hall. Tall. Human. Wrong.
The guard raised his weapon. “Get back!”
Alina stumbled behind him, gripping the candleholder with both hands. The shadow stepped forward: a man in a mask and black tactical gear. Vescari.
Her stomach dropped. “Oh, god—”
The guard fired. The man ducked behind the corner. Alina’s scream lodged in her throat.
“Move!” the guard shouted, grabbing her arm.
They ran. Down the hall, past sealed doors and shuttered windows—past the life she’d had before this moment. Her lungs burned, her legs shook, and her pulse hammered in her teeth. Behind them, footsteps pounded—more than one set. They were being hunted.
“Where are we going?!” she gasped.
“Secondary safe room!”
“Why didn’t we go there first?!”
“It wasn’t ready!”
“Oh my god—”
Another impact shook the wall beside them, and dust rained from the ceiling. The guard shoved her around a corner. “Keep moving!”
She obeyed. Stopping meant dying.
They reached a fork in the hallway—left toward the safe room, right toward the east wing. The guard turned left, but a figure stepped out of the shadows. Vescari. Weapon raised.
The guard shoved Alina right. “GO!”
She stumbled, nearly falling, but caught herself on the wall. Gunfire erupted behind her. She screamed, covering her ears, running blindly down the east wing corridor.
“Dante,” she sobbed, “please—”
A door slammed open ahead of her. Another masked man stepped out. She skidded to a stop; he saw her, she saw him. Her heart stopped. He lunged.
Alina swung the candleholder with every ounce of adrenaline in her body. It connected with a sickening crack against his forearm. He grunted, stumbling back.
She didn’t wait. She ran around the corner, into a room she didn’t recognize, and slammed the door shut, locking it behind her. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
This is it, her brain whispered.
Dante is coming, her heart replied.
She pressed her back to the door and slid to the floor. Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it with trembling hands.
Dante: I’m here.
A sob tore from her throat. She typed back: I’m trapped. East wing. Hurry.
She hit send.
The footsteps stopped outside the door. A shadow fell under the crack. A hand tried the handle. Alina covered her mouth to keep from screaming. The handle turned again. Harder. Then, a voice—low, cold, wrong.
“Found you.”