Chapter 6
The descent into the underbelly of the luxurious mansion was a stark contrast to the opulence above. The gilded wall panels and cream marble columns gave way to cold stone, heavy iron fixtures, and the biting chill of the underground service corridors. Vincent Hale led the procession, his polished leather shoes striking the concrete steps with a rhythmic, terrifying finality. The artistic tattoos with negative space flexed on his hands as he reached out to push open the heavy fire doors separating the basement wings.
Behind him, Rosalind Voss stumbled. The smooth soles of her expensive heels were entirely unsuited for the rough concrete. The burgundy satin of her evening gown caught on a protruding nail, tearing the delicate fabric. She let out a frustrated, terrified sob, refusing to move any further.
"I can't go down there!" Rosalind cried, pressing her back against the damp brick wall. Her fair, rosy skin was a splotchy, panicked red. "It's freezing, Vincent! Please, let's just go back upstairs. I'll pack my bags. I'll leave! If you don't trust me, just let me walk away!"
Vincent stopped. He slowly turned around, his naturally swept-back hair catching the dim, flickering light of the corridor.
"Do you believe trust is the currency we are trading in tonight, Rosalind?" Vincent asked quietly, his deep voice echoing in the narrow space. "Did you honestly think I would let you walk out the front door after discovering my mother has been locked in a lightless tomb?"
"She was comfortable!" Rosalind screamed, her American accent sharp and hysterical. "I made sure the guards gave her blankets! I wasn't trying to kill her, Vincent, I swear to God!"
"If she was so incredibly comfortable, why do your knees falter on my concrete floors at the mere thought of visiting her?" Vincent asked, stepping closer to her, his towering, masculine frame blocking the hallway completely. "Why do you look like a woman walking to the gallows rather than a woman defending her honor?"
Rosalind choked on her own tears. Realizing she had no leverage and no escape, she pushed herself off the wall. She limped down the rest of the corridor, her diamond earrings swinging wildly as she approached the heavy steel door of the decommissioned basement kitchen.
The heavy steel door was secured with a thick, modern industrial padlock and a heavy iron crossbar.
Vincent stepped up to the door, his dark eyes analyzing the lock. He turned his head slightly, his angular face setting into a brutal line.
"Who possesses the key to this lock, Rosalind?" Vincent asked. "Will you hand it to me voluntarily, or must I instruct my men to search your gown for it?"
Rosalind closed her eyes, her chest heaving as she accepted her fate. "I don't have it," she whispered brokenly. "I gave it to Thomas. He’s the only guard who comes down here to bring her food."
Vincent looked at the enforcers standing behind her. "Is Thomas on the premises tonight?"
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"He’s on the perimeter detail, Boss," the lead guard answered grimly.
"Will you bring him to the holding cells immediately and ensure he doesn't leave them alive?" Vincent asked, before turning back to the steel door. "Will you break the lock?"
