Alessandra’s words hung in the damp air of the cellar.

"Drop the gun, Matteo. Or my men upstairs will put a bullet in your mother’s head."

Matteo didn't move. His weapon was still raised, leveled squarely at Alessandra’s chest.

"You’re lying," Matteo said.

"Am I?" Alessandra laughed, stepping slowly down the first few stairs. "Think about it, darling. How would I, a twenty-four-year-old fiancée at the time, have the resources to secretly commit a woman to a private psychiatric fortress? How did I get the codes to this safe house tonight?"

She paused, relishing the look of realization on Matteo’s face.

"Your mother gave them to me," Alessandra continued. "Because she arranged all of it. When she found out your father was leaving her for my pathetic sister, she didn't cry. She acted. She had your father pushed from the balcony. And she paid the facility to lock Eleanor away forever."

"No," I whispered. Mrs. Romano had always been so kind to me.

"She kept the boy alive," Alessandra sneered, "because he’s Romano blood. A backup heir, just in case something happened to you, Matteo. She’s a monster. I just played along to secure my place in the family."

"Then why are you turning on her now?" Matteo asked, his voice steady, buying time.

"Because the old bat was getting paranoid," Alessandra snapped. "She knew I was taking over the business contacts. She was going to cut me out of the will. That’s why I changed her medicine tonight. I just needed her confused enough to sign the transfer papers. But your little maid here ruined it."

Alessandra pointed the gun at me.

"Move up the stairs," Alessandra ordered. "Both of you. Slowly."

Matteo lowered his weapon, but he didn't drop it. He stepped in front of me, shielding my body with his own as we walked up the stairs.

We entered the grand parlor.

The room was opulent, filled with antique furniture and Persian rugs. But the scene was horrifying.

Mrs. Romano was sitting in her wheelchair in the center of the room. Two heavily armed men stood behind her.

On her lap rested a massive, leather-bound ledger. A family heirloom. The Romano family trust, detailing every account, property, and offshore holding.

"Matteo," Mrs. Romano said, her voice shaking but her eyes fierce. "Do not give her what she wants."

"Shut up, old woman," Alessandra snapped, walking over and placing the barrel of her gun against Mrs. Romano’s temple. "Sign the ledger. Transfer the controlling shares to me, or I blow your brains out right in front of your son."

Matteo tensed, preparing to lunge, but the two guards raised their rifles, aiming directly at him.

"Ma," Matteo said gently. "Is it true? Did you order the hit on Dad? Did you lock Eleanor away?"

Mrs. Romano looked at her son. A tear slipped down her wrinkled cheek.

"He was destroying this family, Matteo," she whispered, her voice full of tragic conviction. "He was going to run away and leave you with nothing. The syndicates would have torn you apart if they saw weakness. I had to protect our empire. I had to protect you."

Matteo closed his eyes. The betrayal from his own mother cut deeper than any bullet could.

"And the boy?" Matteo asked.

"He is innocent," she said softly. "I kept him safe at the facility. I made sure he had the best care."

"He was a prisoner, Ma," Matteo said, his voice breaking. "He’s a child."

"Sign the book!" Alessandra screamed, pressing the gun harder. "Now!"

Mrs. Romano picked up the gold pen resting on the ledger. Her hand was shaking violently.

I looked around the room. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. We were going to die here. Once she had the signature, Alessandra would kill all of us.

My eyes darted to the large marble fireplace behind Alessandra.

As the maid, I knew the intricate details of this house. I knew that the heavy, iron gas valve for the fireplace was located on the floor, directly behind where Alessandra was standing.

I also knew that the massive, antique chandelier hanging directly above us was lowered for cleaning via a motorized winch. The control switch for that winch was on the wall, three feet from my right hand.

I looked at Matteo.

He was watching me. He saw my eyes dart to the switch, then to the fireplace.

Without a word, a silent understanding passed between us.

Mrs. Romano put the pen to the paper.

"Stop!" I yelled, taking a sudden step forward.

Alessandra flinched, her gun swinging toward me. "Shut up, Claire!"

"Don't sign it, Mrs. Romano!" I shouted, dropping to my knees as if begging. But as I dropped, I reached out and violently twisted the iron gas valve on the floor.

A loud HISS echoed in the room as pure natural gas flooded the fireplace logs.

"What are you doing?!" Alessandra shrieked.

Matteo didn't hesitate. He raised his pistol and fired a single shot—not at Alessandra, but directly into the stone hearth of the fireplace.

The spark ignited the gas.

A massive fireball erupted from the hearth, exploding outward with a concussive force.