Chapter 3 - The Broken Mask
The lock gave way with a sharp, sickening snap. The heavy double doors swung inward, revealing Victor Santo standing in the doorway. He had shed his tuxedo jacket, revealing a tailored black vest and a shoulder holster housing a sleek semi-automatic pistol. His tie was loosened, his hair disheveled, and the calm facade he maintained in front of the high-society guests downstairs was completely gone. Behind him stood two burly men dressed in nondescript dark suits whom I had never seen among the estate's regular security detail.
""Smart girl, locking the door,"" Victor sneered, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. ""Though not quite smart enough to realize that I hold keys to every wing of this compound.""
""Get out,"" I said, standing tall in the center of the room, keeping my body directly positioned between him and the executive desk where Ivy was hiding. ""Mr. Romano told me to wait here for him. If he finds you—""
""Aleandro is currently occupied in the wine cellar dealing with an intentional coolant leak I arranged ten minutes ago,"" Victor interrupted smoothly, taking slow, deliberate steps toward me. ""By the time he figures out that the alarm was a diversion, you and I will have finished our business. Where is the camera, Grace?""
""I don't know what you're talking about,"" I lied, my voice cracking slightly. ""It’s just an old family keepsake. There’s nothing of value in it.""
Victor chuckled, a dry, humorless sound that echoed off the book-lined walls. ""An old keepsake? Your husband, Noah, was an annoying little pest with an eye for angles he was never supposed to see. He hid on the balcony ledge outside suite 602 and photographed documents that took me three years to arrange. Manifests, offshore bank accounts, routes that would have handed the entire lakefront to the Rossi family on a silver platter.""
The casual way he spoke about my husband's murder sent a searing wave of fury through my terror. ""You threw him over the railing,"" I whispered, the horror solidifying into cold hatred. ""You murdered the father of my child.""
""I told him to hand over the camera,"" Victor shrugged, showing not an ounce of remorse. ""He was stubborn. He threw the bag off the terrace into an open construction dumpster six stories below before I could put a bullet in his head. My boys searched the alley, but a scrap collector must have hauled the bin away before we could retrieve it. I spent months searching pawn shops, thinking the drive was lost forever. Imagine my absolute delight when a snot-nosed four-year-old girl walked right into the ballroom wearing a multi-million-dollar death warrant around her neck.""
He snapped his fingers at the two men behind him. ""Search the room. Find the camera. And check behind that desk.""
""No!"" I screamed, lunging forward with all the strength in my body.
I grabbed a heavy bronze bust of Dante from a nearby side table and swung it with both hands. It caught the first guard across the cheekbone with a brutal thud, sending him stumbling back against the wall with blood spurting from his temple. But Victor was faster. He stepped in, his fingers wrapping like iron bands around my wrist, twisting it until the bronze bust clattered harmlessly onto the rug.
He shoved me backward violently. My lower back slammed into the edge of a mahogany table, knocking the wind from my lungs as I collapsed onto the floor.
""Mommy!"" Ivy shrieked, crawling out from under the desk in tears, running toward me.
""Ivy, run!"" I wheezed, trying to crawl forward, but Victor’s second man grabbed Ivy by her tiny arms, lifting her off the ground as she kicked and screamed.
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Victor spotted the black camera sitting on the low coffee table where I had left it. A triumphant, feral smile spread across his face. ""Finally,"" he breathed, reaching out his hand.
""Touch that camera, Victor,"" a voice cold as the Arctic wind rang out from the doorway, ""and you will not leave this house breathing.""
