Chapter 2 - THE SHADOW IN THE HALLWAY
The darkness that enveloped the main floor of Vale Manor was absolute, heavy, and instant.
The muzzle flash of the second gunshot split the blackness, illuminating the mahogany paneling of the hallway for a fraction of a second. The round struck the reinforced glass of the marble island, sending sharp shards flying across the counter.
Mara Ellis didn't scream. She threw her entire weight against Dominic Vale, tackling the six-foot-two mob boss to the hardwood floor behind the island’s thick marble pedestal.
“Victor!” Dominic shouted, his voice cutting through the sudden ringing in his ears.
“I’m on him!” Victor’s voice came from eight feet to their left.
THWIP. THWIP.
Victor’s suppressed Glock spat twice into the dark. A grunt echoed from the high archway leading to the east gallery, followed by the heavy, metallic sound of a body hitting the floor and rolling down two carpeted steps.
Mara pressed herself flat against the floor, her canvas bag held tightly under her left arm, her right hand pinning Dominic’s shoulder down.
“You’re surprisingly heavy for a maid,” Dominic growled into the carpet, his fingers feeling along his belt for his own weapon.
“You’re surprisingly loud for a target,” Mara whispered back, her breath ragged against his ear. “Stay down. The main circuit breakers were bypassed from the outside. That means they’re inside the perimeter wall.”
Dominic pulled his black Sig Sauer 9mm from his shoulder holster, his thumb flicking the safety off with a soft click. He turned his head to look at her in the dim emergency lighting that slowly flared up along the baseboards—pale amber strips meant to guide staff during power outages.
Under the amber glow, Mara’s face was sharp, focused, and entirely devoid of panic.
“How do you know the breakers were bypassed?” Dominic demanded, his dark eyes narrowing.
“Because the emergency back-up generator takes twelve seconds to kick in if it’s an external grid failure,” Mara said, her voice entirely cool. “It’s been eight seconds and the overheads haven't flickered. Someone jammed the primary transformer with a military-grade relay bypass.”
Dominic stared at her. A housekeeper in a gray uniform was calculating emergency electrical overrides down to the second while under suppressed sniper fire.
“Who the hell are you, Mara?” Dominic whispered.
“Right now, I’m the person keeping you alive,” she said, peering over the edge of the marble island. “Victor, clear the east gallery! The shooter wasn't alone!”
“On it!” Victor’s silhouette moved like a shadow toward the hallway, his weapon raised, checking corners with practiced tactical precision.
Dominic grabbed Mara by her collar, pulling her closer to his chest so he could look directly into her eyes.
“My father had a second son?” Dominic demanded, ignoring the distant sound of footfalls pounding on the upper floor balcony. “Daniel?”
“He didn't just have a second son, Dominic,” Mara said, using his first name for the first time since she had entered his employ three months ago. “Daniel is your older twin. Born seven minutes before you.”
Dominic felt as though a physical fist had crashed into his lungs. “A twin?”
“Marcus Vale didn't want two heirs,” Mara explained quickly, her eyes darting toward the corridor. “Your family’s territory agreements with the Moretti syndicate twenty-seven years ago were built on a single-line male succession clause. A twin meant an automatic division of the Vale empire. So your father took Elena and Daniel, declared her dead, and hid them in an old estate in Vermont.”
“And what happened to them?” Dominic asked, his fingers tightening around the grip of his pistol.
Mara looked down at the canvas bag held against her ribs.
“Elena died of pneumonia fifteen years ago because your father cut off her medical trust,” Mara said, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. “And Daniel... Daniel grew up in the dark, watching you inherit everything that was supposed to be shared.”
BANG.
A third shot shattered the grand grandfather clock at the end of the kitchen hall, sending brass gears bouncing across the floor.
Victor backed into the kitchen, his tactical vest smeared with drywall dust.
“Boss! We have at least six heavily armed shooters entering through the conservatory,” Victor reported, his voice tight. “The landlines are dead, and they’ve deployed a wide-spectrum cell jammer within a hundred yards. We can’t call the external security team.”
Dominic stood up slowly, keeping his back against the marble island, his suit jacket open, his weapon held at ready-low.
He looked at Mara, who was already pulling a heavy silver flashlight and a pair of industrial wire-cutters from her canvas bag.
“There’s a panic room behind the wine cellar,” Dominic ordered. “Victor, escort her down.”
“No,” Mara said immediately, standing up beside him.
Dominic glared at her. “I’m not asking, Mara.”
“The panic room’s secondary vent line opens directly into the conservatory,” Mara said, pointing her flashlight toward the basement stairwell door. “Whoever designed your security layout three years ago left a twelve-inch exhaust void for the climate-control unit. If they have heat-seekers or gas canisters, you’ll be cooked like a rat in an oven.”
Dominic looked at Victor, whose expression went entirely blank.
“Did you know about the exhaust void, Victor?” Dominic asked softly.
Victor swallowed hard. “Sir... the blueprints were certified by—”
“The blueprints were tampered with,” Mara interrupted, throwing her bag over her shoulder. “Follow me to the service tunnel beneath the laundry room. It leads to the carriage house outside the primary jammer radius.”
May you like
Dominic looked at the maid who had spent three months cleaning his floors, then down at the birth certificate sitting on the blood-stained counter.
“Lead the way, Miss Ellis,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into pure steel. “And if we survive the next ten minutes, you’re going to tell me every single thing my father tried to take to his grave.”
