Chapter 3 - The Shadow Over the Boathouse
The dark descended like a sudden heavy blanket, swallowing the grand hall and the surrounding gardens in absolute blackness. Outside, the steady hum of the backup generators failed to kick in.
Roman was on his feet in a fraction of a second, his hand resting on the hidden holster beneath his jacket. Years of living on the knife-edge of survival had trained him to move without sound or panic. He stepped out of his study into the corridor, where the faint moonlight streaming through the high arched windows carved cold silver paths across the marble floor.
"Security team, report," Roman said into his encrypted earpiece.
Static filled his ear, followed by a muffled voice. "Boss... main power line was cut manually from the outer perimeter gate. Secondary relays are unresponsive."
"Lock down all exits. Move Grace and the child to the safe room in the basement immediately," Roman ordered coldly. "Where is Marco?"
"Mr. Bellini went toward the west wing right when the lights went out, sir. Said he was going to check the main breaker."
Roman didn't reply. He moved quickly down the grand staircase, his footfalls silent. Instead of heading toward the breaker room, he cut across the dining hall toward the rear courtyard overlooking the lake.
Through the tall glass doors, he saw a flash of red beam light near the boathouse—a tactical flashlight moving swiftly toward the water's edge.
Roman opened the side door and slipped into the cool night air. The breeze off the lake carried the smell of damp pine and ozone. He kept low against the hedge line, shadowing the flashlight until he reached the timber deck of the boathouse.
Inside, Marco’s silhouette was framed against the faint light of a tablet screen. He was kneeling beside Roman's private launch—a high-speed vessel equipped with state-of-the-art navigation systems.
"It's done," Marco was saying into a satellite phone, his voice hushed but distinct. "The power disruption gives us twenty minutes before his emergency protocols reset the grid. The coordinates for the Genoa vault are on the drive."
A pause as the person on the other end answered. Marco chuckled quietly, a sound devoid of the warmth he usually showed Roman.
"No, he suspects nothing," Marco continued. "He still thinks I'm his loyal lieutenant. Just make sure the payment clears to the Swiss account before sunrise."
Roman stepped out from behind the heavy wooden pillar, his shadow stretching long across the boat dock under the moonlight.
"You always were impatient with money, Marco," Roman said softly.
Marco froze. For a fraction of a second, his shoulder muscles locked, but he recovered with frightening speed. He slowly clicked off his tablet, turned around, and flashed a small, apologetic smile as if caught eating late-night snacks.
"Roman! You scared me," Marco said effortlessly, stepping away from the boat. "I came down here because I saw light flickering from the water right after the blackout. I thought someone was trying to tamper with the vessels."
"Is that why you were talking about a Swiss account?" Roman asked, his eyes icy and fixed on Marco's face.
Marco didn't flinch. "I was on the phone with our offshore broker in Zurich. Trying to safeguard our emergency liquidity in case this blackout is part of a larger hit on our systems. You know I handle the contingent funds."
It was a brilliant lie—plausible, swift, and delivered with total calm. Had Roman not seen Mia's drawing of the Valenti crest, he might have believed him.
"Good thinking," Roman said quietly, stepping closer until he stood inches from Marco. "Let's go back inside. The guards are securing the perimeter."
"After you," Marco offered smoothly.
As they walked back toward the main estate under the dark sky, Roman felt the weight of Marco's gaze on his back. Neither man mentioned the power outage again, but both knew the game had changed.
When they reached the main hall, the emergency lights suddenly flickered back on, flooding the room with warm yellow light. Grace was standing near the foot of the stairs, clutching Mia against her chest. Her eyes were wide with terror, her face pale as paper.
As Roman walked past her, Mia reached out from her mother's arms and tugged gently at Roman's sleeve.
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When Roman turned, Mia slipped a small, folded piece of paper into his jacket pocket, her tiny voice barely a whisper against the noise of shouting guards.
"He took the red book," she whispered.
