Chapter 6 - The Blood on the Marble
The sound of her brother’s voice cutting through the dark house instantly shattered Maisie’s composure.
“Leo!” she cried out, forgetting her own instructions to be quiet.
Cyrus let out a deafening, thunderous bark that shattered the glass panes of the nearby display case. The dog shoved his heavy shoulders against the unlatched courtyard door, bursting out into the driving rain, but he stopped immediately on the patio, turning his massive body around to keep himself positioned between Maisie and the dark hallway.
In the darkness of the main foyer, gunshots erupted.
TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK.
The sharp, rapid cracks of suppressed automatic rifles echoed off the marble walls, accompanied by the heavy thud of falling bodies and the shattering of crystal chandeliers dropping to the floor.
Julian Hart was in his third-floor study when the power cut out. He didn't reach for a light switch; he reached into the hidden drawer beneath his mahogany desk, pulling out a custom matte-black Sig Sauer 9mm pistol and two spare magazines.
He stepped out into the dark gallery hallway just as two men in tactical gear and night-vision goggles crested the grand staircase.
Julian didn't hesitate. He raised his weapon and fired three round bursts into the dark.
STAT-STAT-STAT.
The two intruders fell backward down the marble stairs, their gear clattering uselessly against the steps.
“Boss!” Roman’s voice yelled from the floor below, accompanied by the loud, unsuppressed roar of a shotgun. “They came through the wine cellar! It’s Marcone’s strike team—Eli is leading them!”
“Where is the girl?” Julian shouted down over the banister, his voice echoing through the chaos.
“I don't know! The ground floor is cut off!”
Julian’s blood went cold—a sharp, icy feeling that had nothing to do with the winter rain blowing through the broken windows.
He turned toward the service stairs, sprinting down the pitch-black corridor toward the ground floor, his gun held high.
Down in the main foyer, Eli—Marcone’s chief enforcer—was stepping over the body of a fallen guard, holding a heavy tactical flashlight in his left hand and a silenced pistol in his right.
“Find the kid!” Eli barked to the remaining two men behind him. “Check the ground floor suites! Don't shoot her—we need her alive!”
As Eli stepped toward the sunroom hallway, a tiny shape emerged from the shadow of the grand archway.
Maisie stood in the middle of the dark, ruined foyer. She didn't have her cane. Her hands were held out in front of her, her face turned toward the smell of gunpowder and wet leather.
“Stop!” she shouted, her small voice ringing out through the smoke-filled room. “Stop shooting!”
Eli stopped, his tactical flashlight beam locking directly onto the seven-year-old girl in her oversized blue coat and yellow rubber boots.
A cruel, victorious laugh bubbled up from Eli’s chest. “Well, look at that. The million-dollar prize came right to us.”
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He stepped forward, reaching out a heavy, leather-gloved hand to grab her shoulder. “Come here, kid—”
From the darkness behind the stone column, ninety pounds of muscular fury detonated into the light.
