His eyes were fixed on the remote.
“I saw that. Last week. In Papa’s office. He pointed it at the computer, and the screen changed. He said it was for lessons. But teachers don’t need remotes in Papa’s office.”
Hargreaves’ smile remained.
But the warmth vanished.
Serena stepped in front of the children.
“You shut down the alarms.”
Hargreaves sighed.
“You are a bright woman, Miss Valente. That makes this inconvenient.”
Marco’s face twisted.
“You’re a traitor.”
“I am a pragmatist,” Hargreaves said. “The Carvellis are offering excellent terms. They don’t want to hurt you. They only need leverage.”
“You’ve known them since they were babies,” Serena said.
“And I have been underpaid for four and a half years.”
The old man pulled out his phone.
“Come quietly, and no one suffers.”
Serena looked at the room.
One exit blocked.
Five children behind her.
A hidden tunnel still covered by the armoire.
She raised her hands.
“Okay.”
Relief flickered across his face.
“We’ll come with you,” she said. “Just don’t hurt them.”
His phone lowered slightly.
That was all she needed.
Serena grabbed a wine bottle from the rack and hurled it at him.
It struck his shoulder and shattered against the doorframe.
Hargreaves stumbled.
Serena charged.
She had never been trained to fight. She had never been brave in the way movies made bravery look clean and heroic.
But she was a mother.
And he was between her children and survival.
She slammed into him, driving him back. His phone skidded across the floor. He grabbed for her throat, and Serena fought dirty—nails, elbows, knees, anything.
“Marco!” she gasped. “Move the armoire. Get them out!”
The children scrambled.
Marco and Nico pushed with all their strength. Alessandro helped Lucia. Tommy shoved with his shoulder, silent and determined.
Hargreaves threw Serena off him.
She crashed into the wine rack. Bottles fell and broke around her, red wine spreading over the floor.
He lunged for his phone.
Serena grabbed a broken bottleneck.
“Don’t,” she warned.
He laughed.
Then he raised his hand to strike her.
Before he could, a shadow moved behind him.
Victor Rinaldi appeared in the doorway.
His shirt was torn. Blood streaked one sleeve. His gun was steady.
Hargreaves froze.
Behind Victor, two guards secured the stairs.
“Papa!” the boys shouted.
Victor did not take his eyes off the tutor.
“The Carvellis?” he asked.
“Scattered,” one guard said. “We’re sweeping the grounds.”
Victor stepped forward.
“You betrayed my wife’s children.”
Hargreaves’ face twisted.
“Your wife trusted everyone. That was her weakness.”
The room went silent.
Victor’s voice dropped.