The Maid Stopped the Mafia Boss's Wedding With a Secret Recording—When He Heard His Bride's Voice, He Turned His Back on the Altar Forever

"Get away from the helicopter, August! Run!" Casper roared into his phone, his voice echoing violently off the stone walls of the holding cells. He didn't wait for a reply, sprinting down the corridor with Willow racing close behind him.

They burst out of the subterranean tunnels and into the fading afternoon light of the estate's sprawling gardens. In the distance, on the south lawn, the massive black Falcone family helicopter sat idling on the concrete pad, its rotors slowly beginning to spin. Uncle August was halfway across the grass, holding his black coat against the wind generated by the blades.

"We won't make it on foot!" Willow shouted over the roar of the engines, pointing toward a black security golf cart parked near the garden hedges.

Casper vaulted into the driver's seat while Willow jumped in beside him. He slammed the accelerator to the floor, the cart tearing across the manicured grass, tearing up chunks of mud as they hurtled toward the helipad.

"August! Stop!" Casper yelled, but the deafening sound of the chopper drowned him out. The elder man reached for the cabin door handle.

Suddenly, a shot rang out, shattering the windshield of the golf cart, raining safety glass over Casper and Willow.

From behind a row of tall cypress trees bordering the helipad, a tall figure in a dark overcoat emerged, holding a suppressed high-powered rifle. The jagged scar on his neck was visible even from a distance. Viktor Volkov.

Volkov wasn't just trying to blow up the helicopter; he was waiting to ensure there were no survivors. He aimed his rifle directly at Uncle August’s chest.

Casper swerved the cart violently, placing the vehicle directly into Volkov’s line of sight just as the assassin pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the cart's metal frame, missing Casper by inches.