Victor grabbed her shoulders.
“Listen to me. The media room has reinforced walls, but if they breach the house, it won’t hold forever. Beneath it is a wine cellar. Behind the old armoire is a tunnel to the garage. There’s a black Mercedes at the far end. Keys inside.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You’re not leaving them.”
He pulled a gun from beneath his jacket.
“Tell Marco: Cordis Rosso. He’ll know.”
Glass shattered somewhere below.
“They’re inside!” a guard shouted.
Victor looked at Serena.
For one second, the mafia boss disappeared.
Only the father remained.
“Protect my sons.”
Serena ran.
The hallway stretched endlessly under red emergency lights. Behind her, gunfire and shouting filled the mansion.
She reached the media room and knocked hard.
“Marco, it’s me. Open.”
The lock clicked.
He opened the door just enough for her to slip inside.
The boys were huddled on the couch. Lucia sat between Alessandro and Tommy, gripping both their hands.
“We need to move,” Serena said.
“What’s happening?” Alessandro asked.
“Your papa is handling it. But we need somewhere safer.”
Marco stood.
Serena met his eyes.
“Cordis Rosso.”
Marco went still.
Then he ran to the bookshelf.
He pulled one book from the third shelf.
The entire bookcase swung inward.
A staircase descended into darkness.
Nico stared.
“That’s real?”
Marco snapped, “Move.”
They formed a chain.
Marco first. Nico behind him. Alessandro holding Lucia’s hand. Tommy gripping Serena’s.
They descended into the wine cellar.
The air was cold and smelled of wood, dust, and bottles older than Serena’s marriage had lasted.
Above them, heavy footsteps pounded.
Voices shouted in Italian.
The children froze.
Serena counted heads.
Marco. Nico. Alessandro. Tommy. Lucia.
All there.
“Tunnel’s behind the armoire,” Marco whispered, pointing through the dim storage room.
Serena moved toward the covered piece of furniture.
Then Lucia whispered, “Mama. Someone’s coming.”
Footsteps descended the stairs.
Slow.
Calm.
Unhurried.
A voice followed.
“Children? I know you’re down here. Your father sent me.”
Mr. Hargreaves stepped into the storage room wearing his cardigan, glasses, and kindly smile.
In his hand was a small black remote.
Serena’s stomach dropped.
“There you are,” he said warmly. “Thank goodness. Come along now. It isn’t safe.”
“No,” Tommy whispered.
Everyone looked at him.