Chapter 7 - The Gravity of Betrayal
The force of Bennett’s tackle slammed Victoria back into the doorframe, her head cracking sharply against the wood. The revolver slipped from her fingers, clattering across the hardwood floor toward the fireplace.
"Henry! Get the gun!" Victoria screamed, dazed, her fingers clawing frantically at Bennett’s eyes as he pinned her against the wall.
Dr. Henry dropped the crowbar, throwing his frail body onto his knees as he scrambled toward the revolver sliding across the floor.
Josephine moved with pure, instinctual violence.
She didn't run for the door. She didn't scream. She stepped forward, picked up the heavy iron crowbar Dr. Henry had dropped, and swung it with all the strength in her body directly into the old doctor’s shoulder.
CRACK.
Dr. Henry let out a wet, strangled yell as his collarbone shattered under the impact. He collapsed onto his side, clutching his shoulder, his face writhing in agony, inches away from the gun.
Josephine kicked the revolver away from his reaching fingers, sending it spinning under the heavy mahogany desk. She raised the crowbar again, standing over the groaning man, her eyes blazing with a terrifying, ancient rage.
"Don't touch my children," she hissed through her teeth.
Meanwhile, Bennett had managed to pin Victoria’s arms behind her back, using his neck tie to bind her wrists with a swift, practiced knot he had learned during his years in competitive sailing. Victoria was sobbing now, her glamorous composure completely destroyed, thrashing uselessly against the stone floor.
Bennett stood up, breathing heavily, his shirt torn, blood trickling from a scratch on his cheek where Victoria’s nails had caught him.
He looked at Josephine, standing tall with the iron crowbar in her blood-stained hands, looking like a warrior guarding her nest.
"Are you okay?" Bennett rasped.
"The babies," Josephine said instantly, ignoring his question, spinning around to check the sofa.
The twin girls were both crying now, terrified by the loud gunshot and the violent commotion. Josephine dropped the crowbar, dropping to her knees beside the sofa, gathering both infants into her arms, whispering desperate, soothing French nursery rhymes into their soft hair.
Bennett walked over to the desk, retrieved the revolver from underneath it, and checked the cylinder. Five rounds remained.
He walked back to where Victoria lay bound on the floor, looking down at her with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust.
"The Swiss security team will be here in seventy minutes, Victoria," Bennett said, his voice flat and devoid of any human warmth. "And when they arrive, you, Henry, and Julian are going to sit in the cellar you built for Josephine until the Federal Prosecutors from Paris arrive to collect you."
Suddenly, the heavy mahogany door of the study slammed shut.
CLICK.
The deadbolt engaged from the outside once more.
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From the hallway outside, Julian’s dry, mocking voice drifted through the heavy oak panels.
"Did you really think I didn't have a master key to my own tower, Bennett?" Julian laughed softly. "Enjoy the room, little brother. Because in ten minutes, the ventilation system in the west tower is going to fill that room with carbon monoxide from the old diesel generator in the basement. A tragic heating accident... so terribly common in these ancient French châteaux."
