Page 120 of Stricken

"I do, brother. I do. That's why we're here first. Just point us in the right direction. The place looks like a maze."

I hold my breath, my muscles coiled tight. I'm ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.

After what feels like an eternity, the gatekeeper says, "Head straight down the drive. The main house is on the left." He steps from the vehicle.

Seven offers a curt nod of thanks, rolling up the window as the gate creaks open. In the rain, the sound reminds me of the groan of a dying beast.

The van rolls forward, picking up speed as we enter the lion's den. It jostles over the rain-soaked driveway, each bump and dip sending a shot of adrenaline through my veins.

As we draw closer to the house, my thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm. Images of my father, of the empire he built out of blood and bullets alongside Tony, flash through my mind. Then, I see Salvatore's face, twisted with greed and malice, and a wave of anger crashes over me.

"Ready?" Vlad asks as we approach the service entrance of the main house.

My grip on his hand tightens. "As I'll ever be."

And then the doors slide open and we all, except for Seven, climb out of the van and into the nasty, windy, cloud-covered Nevada day.

* * *

The mansion stands before us, a grandiose silhouette against the storm-ravaged sky. Rain lashes and wind slaps across the dense vegetation surrounding the wall. We slip in through the side entrance, the darkness of the windowless hallway swallowing us whole.

Vlad's hand finds mine, his touch a spark in the gloom. The brush of fingers is brief. A reminder he is here with me, even though I can't see him at first, not until we clear the corridor.

We move as one, silent and deadly, our footsteps muffled by the carpets. Earlier, we gathered in a circle and went over the map of the house I drew from memory, reviewing all the sections of the property to know what rooms to avoid and where we'd be the safest.

We are in the heart of the staff quarters now where the kitchen is located. Noise welcomes us as we navigate further.

Seven signals to his men to fan out and Ocho jumps forward. There's a scream somewhere up ahead, but it's cut off before it travels anywhere.

We file in.

There are only two people there. A cook and Tony's personal maid. She's the one with her hands in the air while Ocho's massive gloved palm is pressed up to her mouth to silence her. His other hand is gripping the back of her neck.

I confidently move toward her and pull down my ski mask, revealing my face. I hope that the dim light of the candle will be sufficient for her to recognize me.

"It's me, Giuliana. Where's Uncle?"

Ocho slowly removes his hand from her face.

"He was in his office all morning," she whispers in a trembling voice, her eyes darting around to take in the men with me. I see the question in her eyes but she's too terrified to speak. The cook—a forty-something small man—is frozen.

"Don't make a sound," I tell Giuliana.

"Oh mio Dio," she mutters in Italian. "Che sta succedendo, Nicola?"

"We're making sure Uncle is safe," I say, nodding at Ocho.

He releases his grip on her neck and steps away, almost melting into the wall.

Outside, lightning flashes, illuminating the room for a split second. Shadows dance across the surfaces, twisted and grotesque, as if the house itself is mocking our intrusion.

I will my thrashing heart to calm. We're already here. No going back now.

I never would have thought I'd be breaking into my own house one day.

But then again, I never would have thought I'd have feelings for Vlad Solovey.

Life is funny that way.

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