Chapter 5 - Shadows in the Library
The darkness in the grand hallway was absolute, save for the erratic, flickering glow of distant fires burning out on the lawn. The air grew thick with the acrid stench of smoke and sulfur. In the sudden confusion, Dominic had been forced to move away to coordinate his men, leaving me crouched behind the stone balustrade with my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I knew I shouldn't try to play hero. I was a residential property manager and estate caretaker—not a tactical operative. But staying hidden while Dominic bled out downstairs felt impossible.
Moving on hands and knees, I crawled away from the stairs and slipped toward the darkened library. The massive room was filled with towering mahogany bookshelves, heavy velvet drapes, and the faint, comforting scent of old leather and cedar smoke. It was also the room directly adjacent to the hidden passage leading to Elena’s secret room.
If the intruders were trying to access the archive room below, they would soon realize the structural connection to the upper gallery. They would come through the library.
I pressed my back against the side of a massive oak desk, straining my ears to listen through the ringing in my ears.
Footsteps.
Heavy, deliberate, and moving with tactical precision across the parquet flooring of the hallway.
Someone was entering the library.
I held my breath, sliding my hand across the desktop until my fingers brushed against a heavy, brass decorative paperweight shaped like an antique globe. It wasn't a fireplace poker, but in a tight space, it would have to do.
A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, sweeping across the rows of books, casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the ceiling. The beam drew closer, illuminating the Persian rug just feet from where I sat frozen in the dark.
“Clear,” a gruff voice muttered softly into a radio comm-link. “The upper study is empty. Moving toward the back wall.”
It was Marco’s voice.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. Marco—the man who had stood beside Dominic for years, the man trusted with his life—was the traitor. He had sold them out.
Marco stepped further into the room, his shadow stretching long across the floorboards. He was holding a suppressed submachine gun, his eyes scanning the shadows with cold professional detachment. He stopped just two feet from the desk, raising his weapon toward the hidden wall panel behind the bookshelf.
He knew about the secret room. He had known all along.
Adrenaline surged through my veins, overriding my fear. As Marco reached out to pry open the hidden latch, I lunged forward from behind the desk.
I swung the heavy brass globe with every ounce of strength I had left.
CRACK.
The heavy metal connected squarely with the side of Marco’s head. He let out a sharp grunt, his weapon clattering uselessly against the hardwood floor as his knees buckled and he collapsed forward into unconsciousness, crashing hard onto the Persian rug.
I stood over him, panting heavily, my hands shaking so violently I could barely hold the brass globe.
“Clara?”
A deep, familiar voice echoed from the doorway.
I spun around, raising the globe defensively, just as a tall silhouette stepped into the dim light. Dominic. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, stained with blood, his face smudged with soot, but his eyes were locked entirely on me—and on the unconscious form of his head of security lying at my feet.
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Dominic looked down at Marco, then back up at me, a slow, dangerous realization dawning across his features.
“Well,” Dominic breathed, a grim, admiring smirk cutting through the tension as he lowered his weapon. “Remind me never to cross you over property damage again.”
