Chapter 6 - The Viper's Last Strike
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By five o'clock that evening, the estate had become an armed fortress disguised as a quiet country home.
Marco had sent the regular domestic staff home with a full month’s bonus, keeping only his most trusted inner circle of guards on the grounds.
He had offered to send me to a safe house in the Poconos, but I refused.
Aunt Helen had insisted on staying near Marco, and she refused to let anyone else help her walk or take her medication.
“You have a stubborn streak, Olivia Carter,” Marco had murmured to me in the hallway earlier, his thumb lightly grazing the edge of my jaw in a gesture that left my skin tingling for hours.
“I learned it from my father, sir,” I had answered.
“Mechanics don't leave the garage when the engine is smoking.”
Now, the sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long, bloody streaks of crimson across the manicured lawns.
I was carrying a tray of fresh linen and tea down the long corridor connecting the main house to the west wing where Celeste was being held.
Marco had posted two guards outside her heavy oak door, but as I turned the corner, I noticed something horrifying.
Both guards were slumped forward against the wall, their heads hanging limply.
Two small dart-like needles were embedded in their necks.
My breath hitched in my chest.
I dropped the tea tray onto the runner carpet, the porcelain cups shattering with a muffled crack.
The door to the west wing suite was cracked open an inch.
Silence spilled from the room.
I should have turned around and run straight to Marco’s study.
Every survival instinct I possessed screamed at me to get Daniel and the armed men.
But then I heard a sound that made my blood run cold.
Paper tearing.
And the frantic tapping of computer keys.
Marco had stored his father’s original, handwritten business ledgers in the antique safe embedded in the west parlor wall—the only safe in the house whose combination Celeste had known.
I pushed the door open soundlessly and slipped inside.
Celeste was not wearing her burgundy gown anymore.
She was dressed in black tactical leggings and a dark sweater, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight braid.
She was kneeling before the open wall safe, shoving leather-bound notebooks into a leather duffel bag.
In her right hand, she held a compact silver revolver.
Beside her stood a man dressed in the uniform of a private delivery driver, holding a silenced pistol.
“Hurry up, Susie,” the man whispered in a rough rasp.
“Anthony is waiting by the service gate with the van.”
“I’m taking everything,” Celeste hissed, her voice dripping with venom.
“These ledgers have every name, every contact, and every federal bribe Salvatore Bellini ever paid.
With these, Marco won't just lose his business; he’ll spend the rest of his miserable life in a cage, right where his pathetic brother belonged.”
I took a step backward, intending to retreat into the shadows of the hallway.
My shoe brushed against a piece of broken glass from the tray outside.
A sharp, clear crunch echoed through the room.
“Who’s there?” Celeste snapped, whipping her revolver around instantly.
The delivery driver stepped into the doorway, blocking my path, his weapon raised directly at my chest.
“Well, well,” Celeste smirked, rising slowly to her feet.
“The little charity case.”
“Let me go, Celeste,” I said, forcing my voice to remain steady despite the violent hammering of my pulse.
“You're surrounded.
Marco’s men are everywhere.”
“Marco’s men are idiots,” she laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that chilled me to the bone.
“Just like Marco.
He spent six months looking into my eyes, thinking I adored him, while I was measuring the length of his coffin.”
She stepped toward me, stopping only inches away, the cold metal barrel of her gun pressing directly against the hollow of my throat.
“You ruined everything last night, you little peasant,” she whispered, her eyes burning with pure malice.
“If you hadn't brought that decrepit old hag into the dining room, Marco would have signed the joint asset transfer papers this morning over breakfast.
I would have owned this house by noon.”
“You will never own anything that belonged to this family,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Because you are nothing but a thief and a murderer.”
Celeste’s eyes flared with rage.
She raised her hand to strike me with the butt of the gun.
“Kill her, Vince,” she ordered her companion.
“Dump her body in the storm drain on your way out.”
The driver raised his weapon, his finger tightening on the trigger.
I braced myself, closing my eyes and thinking of my father sitting safely in his warm garage.
May you like
Then, the heavy window behind the desk exploded inward in a shower of shattered glass.
A single, deafening gunshot tore through the room.
