Chapter 7 - The House Goes BlindDarkness swallowed the security room.
For half a second, no one moved.
Then red emergency lights snapped on along the floor, bathing every face in blood-colored shadow.
Emma screamed again.
I pulled her into my arms.
“Mama’s here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Nico was already shouting into his radio.
“Status. Give me status.”
Static.
Nothing.
He cursed and grabbed a flashlight from the wall.
Alessandro’s voice cut through the chaos.
“Backup system.”
“Dead,” one guard said from the console. “Main grid and generator both cut.”
“Impossible,” Nico snapped.
“Not if someone installed a kill relay inside the transfer panel.”
Alessandro’s face turned toward the dark monitors.
Luca.
Or someone who had access through Luca.
I held Emma so tightly she squirmed.
“Too tight, Mama.”
“Sorry, baby.”
My hands loosened, but my fear did not.
Nico opened a steel cabinet and pulled out a second radio, older and heavier.
“Analog channel,” he said. “Try now.”
A burst of static answered.
Then a voice.
“North gate open. Repeat, north gate open. We have two vehicles approaching.”
Another voice cut in.
“West service gate open. Staff panicking. I can’t see cameras.”
Alessandro turned his chair sharply.
“Valentina is coming back.”
I stared at him.
“Back? Why would she come back?”
His eyes went to Emma.
No.
My stomach dropped.
“No,” I said. “No, she cleared the test. She doesn’t know anything.”
“She saw Valentina. Valentina doesn’t know how much she said.”
Emma clutched my shirt.
“Shiny lady?”
I stood with her in my arms.
“We’re leaving.”
Nico stepped in front of me.
“Not through those gates.”
“Then through one of your secret tunnels or billionaire panic rooms or whatever else this house has.”
He looked at Alessandro.
Alessandro was already moving.
“North storage corridor. There is a protected room behind the archive vault.”
Nico nodded.
“Come on.”
We ran.
Or rather, Nico ran, I followed with Emma, and Alessandro’s wheelchair moved beside us with terrifying speed through the concrete corridor. Two guards took positions behind us.
The emergency lights flickered.
Somewhere above, a siren began, then died mid-wail.
The house sounded wounded.
We passed metal doors marked with numbers, old wine cages, laundry lifts, and a narrow stairwell where shadows moved above.
Nico stopped instantly.
“Down.”
I dropped with Emma.
A shot cracked through the stairwell.
The sound slammed into my chest.
Emma screamed against my neck.
One guard fired upward.
Nico pushed Alessandro’s wheelchair hard around the corner.
“Move!”
We reached a heavy archive door.
Nico punched a code into the panel.
Nothing happened.
“No power,” he snarled.
Alessandro reached beneath the armrest of his chair and removed a small key.
Of course he had a key.
Nico unlocked the manual release.
The door opened.
Inside was a climate-controlled archive room lined with shelves of files, old ledgers, sealed boxes, and paintings wrapped in cloth. At the back stood another door disguised behind a sliding shelf.
Nico pulled it open.
A small reinforced room waited beyond.
Bench.
Water.
First aid.
Phone line.
No windows.
“Inside,” he ordered.
I carried Emma in.
Mrs. Bellini appeared suddenly at the archive entrance, breathless, one hand pressed to her chest.
“Mr. Moretti!”
Nico aimed before recognizing her.
She did not flinch.
“Staff are running out the east doors. Some men came in through the kitchen.”
“How many?” Nico asked.
“I saw four. Maybe five.”
“Armed?”
She gave him a look.
“This house does not get invaded by men carrying flowers.”
Alessandro gestured.
“Inside, Mrs. Bellini.”
“No.”
Every man stared at her.
She lifted her chin.
“I know the old corridors. You need someone to move the staff away from them.”
“It’s too dangerous,” I said.
She looked at me with sad eyes.
“My dear, I have worked for this family since before Mr. Alessandro was born. Dangerous is not new.”
Alessandro’s voice softened.
“Lucia.”
So that was her first name.
Mrs. Bellini’s face changed at the sound of it.
“You are not a boy anymore,” she said. “Do not look at me as if you can order me out of caring.”
For one second, Alessandro looked exactly like a boy.
Then Nico’s radio crackled.
“Boss, Luca is loose.”
Nico whipped around.
“What?”
The radio hissed.
“Dining room hit. Smoke grenade. Two men down. Luca gone.”
Alessandro’s eyes closed.
When they opened, something inside him had settled.
No more shock.
No more grief.
Only decision.
“Nico, take Sophia and Emma inside the protected room. Lock it from within.”
I shook my head.
“What about you?”
“I am ending this.”
“You are in a wheelchair.”
The words came out crueler than I meant.
The room went still.
Alessandro looked at me.
“I know.”
I flushed.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did. And you are right.”
He rolled closer.
“But the mistake everyone keeps making is thinking my legs were the most dangerous part of me.”
Nico’s mouth tightened with something like pride.
Emma lifted her head.
“You come too.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“No, little one.”
Emma’s face crumpled.
“You promised Rabbit.”
Something moved in his expression.
“What did I promise?”
“Desk,” she said tearfully. “Next time.”
The room held its breath.
Alessandro swallowed.
“Then I suppose I owe him a visit.”
Emma nodded.
“You come back.”
It was not a request.
It was a command.
Alessandro leaned forward slightly.
“I will try.”
Emma frowned.
“No. You do.”
For a moment, the alarms, the gunshots, the betrayal, the darkness—all of it fell away.
He looked at this tiny girl in a yellow sweater who had wandered into his life with half a cookie and somehow demanded more from him than any adult had dared.
Then he nodded.
“I do.”
Nico pushed us into the protected room.
Mrs. Bellini squeezed my hand once before stepping back into the archive.
The door closed.
The lock turned.
We were sealed inside with red emergency light, bottled water, and the sound of distant violence moving through the mansion walls.
Emma curled into my lap.
“I scared.”
“I know.”
“You scared?”
I held her close.
“Yes.”
She pressed Mr. Rabbit into my hand.
“For bad news,” she whispered.
I almost broke.
Outside, footsteps pounded past.
A man shouted.
Another shot rang out.
Then silence.
Long.
Terrible.
May you like
I stared at the locked door and realized I had entered that house desperate for a paycheck.
Now I was praying for a Mafia boss to keep a promise to my daughter.
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