“I smell perfume.”
One of the gunmen laughed.
“You’re standing in his bedroom.”
“No.”
Marcus slowly turned.
“The maid.”
His footsteps approached.
Closer.
Closer.
The closet handle moved.
Locked.
Marcus frowned.
“Elena?”
No answer.
“Open the door.”
Vincent reached for the pistol beneath Elena’s dress.
She grabbed his wrist.
“Not yet.”
Marcus’s voice hardened.
“Elena.”
“I know you’re in there.”
Silence.
Then—
Bang!
The closet door exploded inward.
Wood splintered across expensive suits.
Marcus raised his pistol.
His smile vanished.
“…Uncle.”
For one endless second…
Nobody moved.
Marcus looked from Vincent…
To Elena…
To the gun in Vincent’s hand.
Then everything erupted.
Gunfire shattered mirrors.
Glass exploded across the bedroom.
Vincent shoved Elena behind him as bullets ripped through hanging jackets.
Marcus dove behind the bed.
Two gunmen rushed forward.
Vincent fired twice.
Years of instinct never disappeared.
Both men collapsed before they reached the closet.
