Chapter 4 - Descent into Darkness
The service elevator was an antique brass-cage lift concealed behind a faux bookshelf in the pantry. Victor slammed the iron grate shut and punched the basement level button. The gears groaned, slowly lowering them into the dark foundation of the century-old estate.
"Daddy, is Clara okay?" Julian’s voice was small, muffled against Victor’s neck. The boy was shaking, but he wasn’t crying—a chilling sign of shock.
"Clara is very strong, Julian. She’s going to meet us down here," Victor lied smoothly, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt the warm sticky smear on his collar; Clara had taken a round during that last exchange, yet she hadn’t retreated an inch.
When the elevator clanged against the concrete floor of the wine cellar, Victor stepped out into the damp, cool air. The rows of vintage Bordeaux and dusty oak barrels stretched fifty yards into the earth, ending at an old bomb shelter built during the Cold War.
He hurried down the central aisle, his footsteps muffled by sawdust. Suddenly, the low rumble of the elevator ascending again caught his attention. Someone had recalled the car to the ground floor.
May you like
Victor reached the heavy vault door of the bomb shelter and punched the nine-digit passcode into the keypad. The electronic lock beeped green with a mechanical click, and the heavy steel door swung an inch open. He turned back toward the shadows of the wine racks to check the elevator hoist.
From the far end of the cellar, the elevator didn't return. Instead, a distinct clicking sound emerged from the emergency escape ladder behind him. A silhouette stepped out from between the wine racks—not an operative in tactical gear, but Helena, holding Victor’s own silver revolver from his study.
