Chapter 6
Beatrice bit the hand over her mouth.
Hard.
The man cursed and loosened his grip.
She drove her elbow back into his ribs.
Pain exploded through her injured fingers, but she twisted free and slammed into the wall.
The hallway emergency lights pulsed red.
In that broken light, she saw his face.
Grant Porter.
Leo’s trusted guard.
His eyes were not calm now.
They were furious.
“You stupid maid,” he hissed.
Beatrice opened her mouth to scream.
Porter lunged.
She grabbed the nearest thing she could reach—a silver vase from the hall table—and swung with both hands.
It hit his shoulder, not his head.
Still, he stumbled.
Beatrice ran.
Not gracefully.
Not quickly enough.
But with terror feeding every step.
“Lily!” she shouted. “Lock your door!”
Porter grabbed her hair.
She cried out and fell hard on one knee.
He dragged her backward.
Downstairs, alarms began to shriek.
The power outage had lasted only seconds, but seconds were enough in a house built on secrets.
Beatrice clawed at the carpet.
Porter leaned close.
“Where’s the memory card?”
“I don’t know.”
Wrong answer.
He slammed her against the floor.
White flashed behind her eyes.
Then a gun clicked.
Porter froze.
Leo stood at the end of the hallway.
No coat.
No tie.
A pistol steady in his hand.
“Let her go.”
Porter lifted Beatrice by the neck and pulled her against him.
His own gun pressed under her chin.
Beatrice stopped breathing.
Leo’s face became stone.
“Grant.”
Porter laughed once.
“Still using first names? That’s generous.”
“Move the gun.”
“You always were sentimental about servants.”
Leo’s eyes flicked to Beatrice.
She could barely stand.
Her throat burned.
But she saw it.
Porter had angled himself near the service stairs.
If he reached them, he could disappear into the lower tunnels.
The Rossi mansion had old bones.
Hidden exits.
Secret corridors.
Beatrice knew them better than most because she cleaned them.
“Memory card,” Porter said. “Now.”
Mateo appeared behind Leo, weapon raised.
Porter tightened his grip.
“I shoot her first.”
Leo did not blink.
“If you hurt her, you don’t leave this hallway alive.”
“I wasn’t leaving alive anyway.”
That scared Beatrice more than the gun.
A man planning escape could be reasoned with.
A man planning death could only be stopped.
From behind the nursery door came Lily’s tiny voice.
“Bee?”
Porter smiled.
Leo’s face changed.
“No,” Beatrice whispered.
Porter shifted his gun toward the door.
Beatrice threw her full weight downward.
He was stronger.
But she was heavier than he expected.
The sudden drop pulled his aim low.
Leo fired.
The shot hit Porter’s wrist.
The gun flew.
Mateo tackled him into the wall.
Beatrice crawled toward Lily’s door, sobbing.
“I’m here,” she called. “Stay inside!”
Leo reached her and dropped to his knees.
“Beatrice.”
“I’m okay.”
“You are not okay.”
“I’m okay enough.”
His hand hovered near her cheek, as if he did not know whether he had the right to touch her.
Then Lily opened the door.
Her face was white with fear.
“Daddy?”
Leo swept her up.
“I told you to lock the door.”
“I heard Bee fall.”
Beatrice forced a smile from the floor.
“I’m hard to miss when I fall, sweetheart.”
Lily burst into tears.
Leo looked at Beatrice.
There was something raw in his eyes now.
Something dangerous for both of them.
Downstairs, Porter was dragged into the basement interrogation room.
Victoria heard the gunshot from the blue parlor and smiled.
Her father did not.
“That was not the sound of success,” he said.
Hours later, after Lily finally slept, Leo found Beatrice in the small medical room. Dr. Bell had come back to examine her throat, knee, and head.
“No concussion,” the doctor said. “But she needs rest.”
Leo stared at Beatrice.
“Everyone keeps saying that,” she muttered.
“Perhaps because you keep nearly dying,” Leo said.
Dr. Bell wisely left.
Beatrice sat on the examination table, wrapped in a blanket too expensive for anyone to call it a blanket.
Leo stood in front of her.
“I owe you another debt.”
“No,” Beatrice said.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“No?”
“You don’t owe me for loving Lily.”
The words came out before she could stop them.
Leo went still.
Beatrice looked down.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t.”
Her eyes lifted.
“Don’t apologize for that either,” he said.
The silence between them changed shape.
For years, Leo had been a distant sun in the mansion. Powerful. Untouchable. Warm only for his daughter.
Now he was close enough for Beatrice to see exhaustion in his face.
Grief around his mouth.
Blood on his cuff that was not hers.
“I should have seen what Victoria was,” he said.
“Yes,” Beatrice replied softly.
He looked surprised.
She swallowed.
“You should have. Lily was afraid of her.”
Leo closed his eyes.
The truth hit harder because she did not soften it.
“When this is over,” he said, “you can name whatever you want.”
Beatrice gave a tired laugh.
“I want to sleep for twelve hours and never see a cellar again.”
“You’ll have more than that.”
“I don’t need more.”
Leo stepped closer.
“You deserve more.”
No one had ever said that to her like it was a fact.
Not kindness.
Not pity.
Fact.
Before she could answer, Mateo opened the door.
His face was grim.
“Porter talked.”
Leo turned.
“He confessed to helping Kensington feed information before Elena’s bombing.”
Beatrice’s stomach dropped.
Mateo looked at her.
“And he said Victoria was not the only one who wanted Lily locked away today.”
Leo’s voice turned deadly.
“Who else?”
Mateo held up a phone.
On the screen was a live camera feed.
Lily’s bedroom.
Empty bed.
May you like
Open window.
Beatrice’s blood went cold.
