The East Wing was strangely quiet. Most of the guards were outside managing the press circus or patrolling the perimeter, leaving the interior surprisingly light on security. Vittorio's arrogance—his belief that we were safely locked away—was his weakness.
We moved in a tight formation.
Clara took point on navigation. Even though she had hardlyr left the facility, she had memorized the blueprints of the house as part of her "training."
"Service elevator is twenty meters on the left," Clara whispered, her voice monotone but precise. "It bypasses the main hall."
Sienna handled the "social engineering." When we ran into a maid turning down a hallway, Sienna stepped out, putting on her best 'haughty guest' voice.
"You there! Fetch me sparkling water. Now!"
The maid, terrified of the yelling woman in the strange outfit, scuttled away without looking twice at me or Clara hiding in the alcove.
We reached the service elevator. I swiped the stolen keycard.
Ding.
