Chapter 6 - The Betrayal Unveiled
The heavy lamp struck Julian across the shoulder, sending him stumbling backward with a cry of pain. The gun clattered onto the hardwood floor.
I didn't run for the main door—Viktor was standing right outside. Instead, I scrambled across the floor, grabbed the revolver, and scrambled behind the heavy mahogany desk just as Viktor burst into the room.
"What happened?!" Viktor yelled.
"She has the gun! Shoot her!" Julian screamed, clutching his bruised shoulder.
Viktor pulled his weapon, but I didn't wait to be a target. I pointed the revolver at the massive floor-to-ceiling glass window behind the desk and pulled the trigger.
BOOM!
The glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards, letting in a torrent of freezing rain and wind. I turned the gun toward Viktor, firing two wild shots that forced him to dive behind a sofa.
Without looking back, I leaped through the shattered window frame, landing hard on the muddy flowerbeds outside.
Pain shot through my ankle, but adrenaline drowned it out. I scrambled to my feet in the pouring rain, clutching the folded drawing inside my dress, and ran straight into the sprawling estate grounds.
I couldn't leave the estate on foot—the gates were locked, and guards were everywhere. But I knew where Marco’s personal satellite phone was kept: in the garage, inside his armored vintage Jaguar, a car he maintained himself and kept secured with an independent access code.
Tearing through the freezing rain, my secondhand shoes slipping in the mud, I sprinted toward the detached carriage house. Searchlights began to sweep the grounds behind me. Alarm sirens wailed through the night air.
"Find her!" Julian’s voice shouted over the outdoor intercom system. "She is armed and dangerous! Do not let her leave the grounds!"
I reached the side door of the carriage house, punched in the four-digit code Marco had casually mentioned while showing the car to Dante weeks ago—the date of Dante’s birth—and slipped inside, slamming the heavy door shut behind me.
Gasping for air, shivering violently from the ice-cold rain, I scrambled into the driver’s seat of the Jaguar. In the center console lay the heavy satellite phone.
My fingers trembled uncontrollably as I dialed Marco’s direct emergency line.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
"Speak," Marco’s voice cut through the static, cold, clipped, and heavy with background noise.
"Marco! It’s Meline!" I cried out, tears mixing with the rain on my face. "Do not go into the warehouse! It’s an ambush! Julian set you up!"
A heavy pause hung on the line. "Meline? What are you talking about? Where are you?"
"I’m in the carriage house! Julian killed Isabella, Marco!" I sobbed, holding the phone tightly to my ear. "Leo saw him! He drew Julian’s crest pin! Julian cut the brake lines on her car! He’s working with Moretti, and he’s sent men to kill you at the docks right now!"
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For three agonizing seconds, there was total silence on the line. Then, I heard the distinct sound of Marco racking the slide of an automatic pistol.
"Julian," Marco said, his voice dropping into a register of pure, terrifying malice that gave me shivers. "Meline, listen to me very carefully. Hide in the safe room beneath the carriage floor. I am coming home."
