Chapter 4 - The Maid’s Counterstrike
Hannah backed away slowly until her spine hit the edge of Sophia’s changing table. Her mind was racing, calculating every object in the room. She was just a maid, untrained in combat, facing a hardened mercenary. But she had one advantage: she knew this room intimately, and she knew where everything was stored.
"I said, give it to me!" the man snapped, taking another heavy step forward.
"Okay," Hannah said, her voice shaking convincingly as she reached into her pocket. "Just... don't shoot me. Please."
She pulled her hand out, but instead of the patch, she grabbed a heavy, industrial-grade aerosol spray bottle of fabric disinfectant she had left on the changing shelf earlier that evening.
With a swift, desperate motion, Hannah aimed the nozzle straight at the man’s face and held down the trigger.
A concentrated, blinding mist of high-proof alcohol and chemical solvent sprayed directly into the mercenary's eyes.
The man screamed out in agony, dropping his hands to his burning eyes, his weapon lowering. "You little bitch!"
Hannah didn't waste a second. She grabbed a heavy brass floor lamp nearby and swung it with all the force in her body, crashing it into the side of the man’s knees.
The mercenary collapsed with a heavy thud. Hannah darted around him, kicking his fallen weapon under the bed, and sprinted out of the nursery into the service corridor just as footsteps thundered down the main hallway.
She ran faster than she ever had in her life, ducking through the narrow wooden passages until she reached the heavy reinforced steel door of the mansion’s safe room on the lower level.
She pounded on the door in a specific rhythm—three quick knocks, two slow ones—the code Marco had given her.
The heavy steel wheel turned, and the door creaked open. Marco pulled her inside, immediately sealing the heavy bolts behind her.
"Hannah!" Sophia’s small voice called out.
The little girl was sitting on a plush sofa in the center of the brightly lit, bomb-proof bunker, wrapped in a fresh, clean cotton blanket. The moment she saw Hannah, she scrambled off the couch and ran into Hannah’s arms.
Hannah dropped to her knees, hugging the child tightly, tears finally spilling over her eyes. "You’re safe, Sophia. You’re safe."
"Where’s Daddy?" Sophia whispered, holding Hannah tightly.
"He’s protecting us," Hannah promised gently.
Hannah pulled the plastic case from her pocket and handed it to Marco. "I got it. The chemical evidence is safe."
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Marco looked at the maid with newfound respect, nodding heavily. "You’ve got real guts, Hannah. The boss was right about you."
Outside the heavy steel door, the muffled sound of gunfire slowly began to fade, replaced by the deep, echoing roar of Nico Bolaro’s heavy caliber rifle. The master of the house was reclaiming his territory.
