Chapter 12 - THE GHOST IN THE PENTHOUSE
My heart slammed against my ribs. The flashlight beam trembled in my hand, illuminating Victoria’s face. She looked exhausted, her blonde hair greasy and unkempt, a stark contrast to the glamorous woman who used to terrorize the mansion staff.
“You’re supposed to be in federal custody,” I stammered, clutching the heavy leather ledgers to my chest.
Victoria let out a bitter, raspy laugh. She raised the gun, aiming it at my center mass. “You think Volkov doesn't have guards on his payroll? He broke me out of transit two hours ago. He knew the FBI would send someone to find the books. He just didn't expect it to be my old scrub woman.”
She stepped further into the closet, cornering me. “Give me the ledgers, Rebecca. Volkov promised me a plane to South America and ten million dollars if I bring them to him. It’s my only way out.”
“If you give him these books, he’s going to murder an eight-year-old girl,” I said, my voice shaking, but I didn't lower my gaze. “He’s going to kill Sophie.”
“I don't care about the brat!” Victoria snapped, her eyes wide and manic. “I care about me! Hand them over, or I will drop you right here on my imported rug.”
I slowly stepped back until my spine hit the cedar shelving. My mind raced. I was forty-two. I wasn't a fighter. But I had spent my life studying the wealthy, watching their habits, knowing their spaces better than they did.
Victoria stepped closer, the gun unwavering.
“Agent Foster is in the lobby,” I warned. “If you shoot me, she’ll hear it. Or she’ll come up when I don't answer the radio.”
“It’s a suppressed weapon, you idiot,” Victoria sneered. “And I’ll take the service elevator down to the garage. Now, give me the books.”
I slowly held the books out toward her. But as she reached for them with her free hand, I didn't let go.
Instead, I looked just over her shoulder, my eyes widening in feigned shock.
“Dominic?!” I gasped loudly.
Victoria panicked. Her head snapped around to look behind her, the gun wavering away from me for one split second.
It was the oldest trick in the book, but for a paranoid, desperate woman, it worked.
I didn't try to run. I didn't try to punch her. I shoved the heavy, leather-bound ledgers squarely into her face with all my strength.
The heavy spine of the book cracked against her nose. Victoria screamed, dropping the gun as she stumbled backward, her hands flying to her bleeding face.
I didn't hesitate. I kicked the gun under the heavy mahogany bed frame, grabbed the ledgers from the floor, and bolted out of the closet.
“Foster!” I screamed into the small lapel mic on my collar as I sprinted down the hallway. “Foster, Victoria is in the penthouse! She has a weapon!”
“Stop!” Victoria shrieked from behind me. I heard her scrambling to retrieve the gun.
I threw open the penthouse doors and sprinted toward the elevator banks. The doors to the service elevator were already sliding open. Inside stood Agent Foster, her service weapon drawn.
I dove into the elevator car just as a bullet shattered the marble wall where my head had been a second before.
Foster fired two quick shots down the hallway, forcing Victoria to dive for cover.
“Close the doors!” Foster yelled, slamming her hand onto the control panel.
The heavy metal doors slid shut, sealing us inside. I collapsed against the back wall of the elevator, gasping for air, clutching the ledgers tightly to my chest.
Foster looked at me, her chest heaving, a massive grin breaking across her face. “You got them.”
I looked down at the books. “I got them.”
Three Days Later
The Italian sun felt warmer than ever.
I sat on the deck chair, watching Dominic and Sophie build a massive sandcastle near the water's edge. Isabella was reading a book beside me, sipping a glass of iced tea.
The news had hit the global networks yesterday. A massive, coordinated FBI raid in New York had arrested Yuri Volkov and his entire top lieutenant circle. Victoria had been apprehended in an alley behind her building, facing new charges that would ensure she never saw the outside of a cell again.
The debt was erased. The threat was gone.
“You know,” Isabella said softly without looking up from her book. “Dominic wants to buy you a house down the street. A beautiful villa. It has a garden.”
I smiled, watching Sophie place a seashell on top of the sandcastle’s highest tower. “I like it here. With you guys.”
Isabella finally looked at me, a deep, genuine warmth in her eyes. “Good. Because we were going to be very upset if you left.”
Sophie suddenly stopped playing. She ran across the sand and up the wooden stairs of the deck, holding something in her small hands.
“Aunt Rebecca,” she said brightly. “I found this on the beach. It reminded me of you.”
She held out her hand. Resting in her palm was a piece of smooth, blue sea glass. It was shaped perfectly like a little star.
I took the star from her hand, my heart swelling with an emotion so large I thought it might break my ribs.
May you like
“Thank you, sweetie,” I whispered.
I was Rebecca Hayes. I used to clean houses. But now, I was home.
