Chapter 3 - The subterranean escape
The screech of the drill biting into the brass deadbolt accelerated Vincent’s timeline. He knew the heavy mahogany doors would only hold for another two minutes against industrial breaching tools. He turned to the massive, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf dominating the western wall of the study. He pulled a specific, leather-bound volume of Shakespeare, triggering the pneumatic pistons hidden within the wall. The entire bookshelf swung silently outward, revealing a dark, narrow stone passageway that spiraled downward into the bowels of the estate.
Come here, Lily, Vincent whispered urgently.
The little girl slid off the leather armchair, her pastel-pink princess dress rustling softly in the quiet room. She did not cry. She sensed the profound danger in her grandfather's sharp blue eyes and hurried to his side. Vincent scooped the black metal device off the desk, tucking it securely into the inner pocket of his tailored tuxedo, and guided Lily into the dark passageway just as the heavy wooden doors of the study splintered inward.
He pulled the bookshelf shut behind them, plunging them into absolute, pitch-black darkness. The heavy stone masked the shouted curses of Vanessa and her armed men searching the empty room above. Vincent retrieved a small tactical flashlight from his pocket, illuminating the steep, winding stairs.
This passage leads to the old prohibition-era wine cellars, Vincent explained softly, keeping his large hand wrapped securely around Lily’s tiny fingers. We have to reach the subterranean utility hub to manually override the communication jammer.
They descended in silence, the air growing damp and smelling of aged wood and damp earth. As they reached the bottom of the stairwell, entering the vast, arched brick cellars, Vincent suddenly extinguished his flashlight. He pulled Lily behind a towering stack of oak barrels, holding his breath.
Through the dim, ambient light filtering from the utility grates above, he saw silhouettes moving through the cellar. Vanessa’s mercenaries had already anticipated the escape route and were sweeping the subterranean levels. Vincent possessed immense physical strength, but he was unarmed, sixty-seven years old, and protecting a six-year-old child against men carrying suppressed tactical weapons.
Grandpa, look, Lily whispered, tugging gently on his tuxedo sleeve. She pointed toward a large, walk-in refrigeration unit used for storing vintage champagnes.
Through the small glass window of the heavy steel door, Vincent saw the true catering staff, including the executive chef, bound and gagged on the freezing floor. Vanessa had entirely replaced the staff with her own syndicate operatives.
We can't help them yet, Lily-bug, Vincent murmured, his heart breaking as he watched the terrified staff. We have to get the signal out first.
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As they crept past the refrigeration unit, moving toward the primary utility corridor, one of the mercenaries suddenly turned, his tactical flashlight sweeping across the pink tulle of Lily’s dress. The man shouted, raising his weapon, but Vincent moved with blinding, predatory speed. He threw himself forward, grabbing a heavy, vintage wine bottle from a nearby rack, and smashed it flawlessly across the mercenary’s temple. The man collapsed silently into the shadows.
Vincent grabbed the mercenary’s suppressed pistol and an extra magazine, his sharp blue eyes hardening into absolute, unyielding ice. The game of hide and seek was over. The patriarch of the dynasty was preparing for war.
