Chapter 7 - The Secret Surveillance and the Inner Traitor
The subterranean drainage tunnel was damp, dimly lit by flickering emergency fluorescents, and smelled of wet stone and moss.
Water trickled along the concrete floor as the three of them moved quickly through the dark passage.
Claire kept a close eye on Luca, watching his breathing patterns and monitoring his pace.
Despite the intense physical exertion and adrenaline surge, his steps remained surprisingly steady.
“The antidote is clearing the lingering toxins from your neuromuscular junctions,” Claire whispered softly as they paused near a junction box.
“Your heart rate is stabilizing.”
“I feel like a new man,” Luca admitted, looking down at her with a mix of awe and gratitude.
“You saved my life twice today, Claire—once in the drawing-room, and once against the mercenaries.”
“You haven’t survived the night yet,” Claire reminded him gently.
Suddenly, a muffled sound echoed from the corridor ahead of them.
Footsteps were approaching, accompanied by the low murmur of voices speaking in code.
Matteo raised his weapon instantly, pressing his back against the damp brick wall.
“Hold your fire,” Matteo hissed under his breath.
Two figures rounded the corner ahead, carrying heavy tactical gear and flashlights.
One of them was a senior security guard from the estate’s night shift—a man named Vance who had served the Moretti family for five years.
“Vance?” Matteo called out, lowering his weapon a fraction.
Vance stopped dead in his tracks, his flashlight beam cutting through the gloom to blind them.
“Matteo?” Vance replied, his voice laced with hesitation.
“Thank God you’re alive, sir.”
“We thought the west wing breach had wiped everyone out.”
“Put your flashlight down, Vance,” Luca commanded, stepping out of the shadows.
The cold, terrifying authority in Luca’s voice made the guard flinch.
Vance slowly lowered the beam of his flashlight, but his left hand twitched nervously toward his holster.
“Boss,” Vance stammered, sweating profusely despite the cool underground air.
“We heard the explosions upstairs.”
“We came down to secure the perimeter.”
“You didn’t come to secure the perimeter,” Claire interrupted, her sharp eyes locking onto the guard’s posture.
“You came to hunt us.”
Vance blinked in confusion.
“Ma’am, what are you talking about?”
“Your boots are caked in fresh mud from the northern courtyard,” Claire pointed out calmly.
“The northern courtyard was hit by the first explosive charge thirty minutes ago.”
“Everyone else in the house was either fighting in the main hall or locked in the panic rooms.”
“You weren’t securing the perimeter, Vance—you were guiding Marco’s strike team through the blind spots.”
Vance’s face drained of color.
The mask of loyalty vanished instantly, replaced by a desperate, panicked snarl.
He whipped his pistol out of his holster with terrifying speed.
Before Vance could even level the barrel, Luca’s shotgun roared in the confined tunnel.
The deafening blast echoed off the stone walls, sending Vance crashing backward onto the wet concrete.
The traitor lay still in the flickering emergency light.
Matteo let out a long breath, lowering his weapon.
“I trusted him with my life for five years,” Matteo murmured, shaking his head in disgust.
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“Greed doesn't care about loyalty,” Claire said softly, stepping past the fallen guard without hesitation.
“Let’s keep moving before Marco sends reinforcements.”
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