Chapter 9: The Greenhouse Escape
The morning sun broke through the thick glass panes of the estate's abandoned greenhouse, casting a warm, misty glow over rows of overgrown ferns and tangled vines. It was the only place in the entire sprawling property where the echoes of wealth and mafia business couldn't quite reach. I knelt in the damp, rich soil near the back wall, gently brushing dirt away from the roots of a neglected rose bush that refused to die despite years of neglect. It felt peaceful here, far away from the tension of the main house and the constant anxiety of waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The tranquility shattered when the heavy glass door of the greenhouse creaked open, the rusted hinges groaning in protest. Heavy, hurried footsteps crunched against the gravel pathway. I froze, my breath catching in my throat as a sharp shadow fell across the dirt. "I know you're in here, you little brat," Dominic’s voice hissed, devoid of its usual smooth corporate polish. He stepped into the aisle, his suit rumpled, his hair disheveled, and panic distorting his handsome features into something ugly. "Where is the flash drive? Where did Vincent hide the ledger? If you don't tell me right now, I swear I'll make sure you disappear just like your mother did!"
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Before I could scramble backward into the thick brush, a familiar figure stepped out from behind a massive banana tree. Grace stood squarely in Dominic’s path, her white apron stained with garden dirt, her face set in an expression of absolute, fearless resolve. "You won't lay a finger on her, Dominic," Grace said, her voice steady and ringing with authority. "The police have copies of everything. Vincent knows about the offshore accounts. Your game is finished." Dominic’s face flushed a deep, mottled red, his hand twitching toward the pocket of his jacket where a heavy metal object gleamed in the dim light.
"Get out of my way, you pathetic old woman!" Dominic snarled, lunging forward with a violent shove that sent Grace stumbling backward against a wooden potting bench. The sound of splintering wood echoed through the glasshouse, but the distraction gave me the opening I needed. I scrambled low beneath the hanging ferns, my sneakers kicking up wet earth as I sprinted toward the side service exit that led out to the open courtyard. Behind me, I heard the heavy thud of boots pursuing, but I didn't look back, trusting Grace's sacrifice to buy me just enough time to reach safety.
