Chapter 2 - The Poison in the Hallways
“Tear gas,” Damian gritted out, his voice a low growl over the hiss of the vapor crawling under the door. “Chlorobenzalmalononitrile. Military grade. Victor isn’t trying to capture us. He’s suffocating us.”
Martha’s lungs clamped shut in instinctive terror. The white cloud was spreading across the wet marble floor like a living creature, curling around Damian’s bare feet and her soaked maid’s shoes. The chemical smell hit her nose—sharp, acrid, like burning sulfur and battery acid.
“Where does that door lead?” Martha gasped, holding her bloodied towel over her nose and mouth.
“To a dead end if Victor has men in the corridor,” Damian said. He didn't panic. His gray eyes moved with cold, mechanical precision over the bathroom walls. He reached into the shower stall, grabbed the brass temperature valve, and gave it a violent, quarter-turn counterclockwise.
A loud metallic click echoed behind the mirror frame.
Section by section, a piece of the white marble wall behind the double vanity swung inward, revealing a pitch-black vertical shaft with a rusted iron ladder going down.
“A private escape route,” Damian said, grabbing Martha by her uninjured wrist. “Built during the Prohibition era by my grandfather. Move!”
Outside the bathroom door, the heavy brass handle rattled violently. Then came the thud of a battering ram hitting the reinforced wood.
“Damian!” Victor’s voice came muffled through the oak paneling. “Open the door! The shooter is still inside the building! We need to secure you!”
“Liars don’t scream before they save you,” Damian muttered. He shoved Martha into the narrow opening. “Climb down. Don't look back, and don't stop until your feet touch dirt.”
Martha squeezed into the icy dark shaft. The smell of old dust and damp earth instantly replaced the chemical tang of tear gas. She scrambled down the iron rungs, her sneakers slipping on wet rust. Above her, Damian dropped into the shaft and slammed the marble panel shut just as the bathroom door exploded off its hinges upstairs.
Hunted muffled gunshots rang out through the stone wall above them.
“They realize we’re gone,” Damian whispered, descending right behind her. His hot breath brushed the top of her hair. His broad frame filled the narrow chute, blocking out any light from above. “Keep moving.”
Thirty feet down, Martha’s boots hit packed gravel. She stumbled into a damp underground tunnel illuminated only by the faint glow of Damian’s secure phone screen.
The air was freezing down here, smelling of the Charles River.
Damian stepped beside her, towel discarded, now pulling a dark tactical hoodie and trousers from a waterproof emergency locker built into the tunnel wall. He threw a black wool coat over Martha’s shoulders.
“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his chest. His fingers gently touched the cut on her shoulder where the broken glass had bitten into her skin.
“I’m fine,” Martha lied, her teeth chattering from shock and cold. She looked at his ribbed abdomen, where a jagged red streak was slowly dripping blood down his flank. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’ve had worse from men I actually liked,” Damian said grimly. He pressed a adhesive bandage over his ribs without flinching. “Victor was my father’s right hand for twenty years. If he’s turned, it means the entire security force in this house is compromised. Every gate, every camera, every guard on the perimeter belongs to him now.”
“He tried to kill you,” Martha said, the reality setting in like ice in her veins. “And he tried to kill my brother.”
Damian met her eyes in the dim light of the phone. “He didn't just kill Andrew, Martha. He used Andrew to get to me. Your brother found out Victor was selling Falcone shipping routes to the Moretti family in New York. Andrew came to me three weeks ago with proof.”
“Then why didn't you stop him?” Martha demanded, her voice rising with anger. “Why did Andrew end up dead in a river while you stayed safe in your mansion?!”
Damian grabbed her arms, forcing her to look directly at him. His gray eyes were intense, dark with an emotion that looked dangerously close to remorse.
“Because Andrew trusted the wrong person to deliver the final encrypted files,” Damian said softly. “He trusted Victor. And by the time I realized Victor was the snake, Andrew’s car was already underwater.”
A distant explosion echoed down the tunnel. The concrete floor beneath their feet trembled.
“They’re blowing the tunnel access,” Damian said, his grip tightening. “We have three minutes before the river gate locks down automatically. Do you want revenge for your brother, Martha?”
Martha wiped a smudge of soot from her cheek and squared her shoulders. The fear that had paralyzed her in the shower was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp fire.
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“I want the truth,” she said. “And I want the man who killed Andrew to pay for it.”
Damian gave a single, dark nod. “Then welcome to my world, Ms. Bellini. Try to stay alive.”
