Chapter 7 - THE AXE AND THE MARBLE
Rachel crept out of the library, the heavy bronze horse held high in her shaking hands.
Below in the grand foyer, the air was thick with gunpowder smoke and the smell of ozone. Gunfire echoed like thunderclaps against the high vaulted ceilings.
Roman was pinned down behind the balustrade on the upper landing. Blood was seeping through his white shirt where a ricocheting piece of copper had grazed his ribcage, but his eyes remained deadly, focused, and unyielding.
He dropped one intruder as the man tried to charge the main staircase, but the remaining two gunmen were flanking him from both sides.
"Flush him out!" one of the gunmen yelled, pulling a flashbang grenade from his tactical vest.
Rachel saw the man standing directly beneath the grand crystal chandelier—the massive, five-hundred-pound fixture that hung over the center of the foyer.
She didn't think. She didn't hesitate.
Rachel sprinted to the brass winch mechanism mounted on the upper library wall—the ancient manual winch used to lower the chandelier for cleaning. She grabbed the heavy iron release lever and pulled with all her strength.
CLANK-CLANK-CLANK!
The heavy steel gears disengaged.
The massive five-hundred-pound crystal chandelier dropped like a falling star, crashing straight down onto the foyer floor directly between the two gunmen.
CRASH-SHATTER!
Thousands of heavy crystal prisms and iron framing exploded across the marble floor like a fragmentation grenade. The shockwave knocked both gunmen off their feet, burying them under a mountain of heavy metal and shattered glass.
Roman didn't waste a millisecond. He stepped around the balustrade and fired two precise shots, disarming both stunned intruders before they could recover.
Silence fell over the mansion, broken only by the crackle of burning plaster and the heavy, ragged breathing of Roman and Rachel.
Roman looked up at the upper balcony, his eyes wide with astonishment as he saw Rachel standing beside the smoking winch, her hair wild, her hands dirty, holding the bronze horse like a club.
"Where did you learn to do that?" Roman gasped, leaning against the railing.
"I read the maintenance manual while I was dusting the library last week," Rachel panted, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Roman stared at her for three long seconds, then let out a low, breathless laugh—a real, genuine laugh that echoed through the ruined foyer.
Suddenly, the shattered front doors creaked open.
A woman walked into the smoke-filled foyer, dressed in a mud-splattered trench coat, holding a small, sleek silver revolver.
Evelyn Whitmore.
Her hair was unraveled, her face twisted in absolute, hysterical madness.
"You ruin everything, Roman!" Evelyn shrieked, raising the revolver directly at Roman’s chest. "You were supposed to die in that foyer! You were supposed to let me have the child!"
Roman raised his gun, but his slide locked back—empty.
"Evelyn, stop!" Rachel screamed from the balcony, raising the bronze horse.
"Shut up, you pathetic little maid!" Evelyn spat, her finger tightening on the trigger. "My sister died because of this family! I'm taking what's mine!"
"Evelyn," a tiny, clear voice echoed from the top of the stairs.
May you like
Evelyn blinked, her eyes darting upward.
Four-year-old Sophie was standing at the edge of the staircase, holding her plastic stethoscope in one hand and Nico wrapped in his navy constellation blanket in the other.
