Chapter 11 - The Scent of Bitter Almonds
Sophia’s blood ran cold.
The maintenance vents didn't just lead out of the vault; they crisscrossed the entire foundation of the manor, including the old wine cellar right ahead of them. Julian hadn't fled toward the bay. He was flanking them.
"Ethan, stop," Sophia whispered, her voice barely a breath.
Ethan halted immediately, pressing his back against the damp brick wall. He gripped the small tactical flashlight he had snatched from the vault crate, keeping the beam pointed strictly at the floor to avoid revealing their position.
"What is it?" Ethan whispered.
"Julian is ahead of us," Sophia said.
"How do you know?"
"Lily smells him."
Ethan looked at the toddler. Any other eight-year-old would have scoffed at the idea of trusting a three-year-old girl in a dark tunnel, but Ethan had seen what Lily’s nose could do. She had saved his life from a single forkful of frosting.
Suddenly, from the darkness of the archway leading into the wine cellar fifty feet ahead, a shadow detached itself from the wall.
"Smart little brat," a smooth, venomous voice purred through the gloom.
Julian Moretti stepped into the pale beam of Ethan’s lowered flashlight. His ivory tuxedo jacket was ripped at the shoulder, stained with soot and grease from the vents. In his right hand, he held a sleek submachine gun. In his left hand, he held a remote detonator.
"Julian," Ethan choked out, taking half a step backward.
"Hello, nephew," Julian said, his eyes glittering with manic fury. "You shouldn't have run down here. If you had just eaten your birthday cake like a good boy, it would have been peaceful. You would have gone to sleep, and Dante would have died of a broken heart within a year. But now? Now I have to do this the messy way."
"You're a monster," Sophia said, placing herself squarely in front of Ethan and shielding Lily with her body. "He's your brother's child!"
"He's an obstacle," Julian snapped, stepping forward, the muzzle of his gun leveling directly at Sophia’s forehead. "Just like you, maid. You should have minded your own business and cleaned the floors. Instead, your little bastard ruined five years of meticulous planning."
"Run, Ethan!" Sophia screamed, lunging forward with every ounce of motherly fury she possessed.
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She didn't have a gun. She didn't have armor. But she had an iron dust-pan pole she had grabbed from the maintenance alcove on their way down. With a primal shriek, she swung the metal pole straight at Julian’s face.
***
