Chapter 6 - A Breach in the Wall
By 3:00 AM, the estate had grown deathly quiet.
Genevieve hadn't slept. She sat wrapped in a plush wool blanket in a velvet armchair by the fireplace, staring into the dying embers. The satellite phone sat on the table beside her, unused. Who could she call? The police? Captain Harris was already suspicious; calling him from a Viscanti safehouse would look like collusion. Her family? She had no living family left in the city. She was entirely, terrifyingly alone.
A faint sound cut through the silence of the hallway.
Click.
It wasn't a knock. It was the sound of a mechanical tumblers turning inside a master keyhole.
Genevieve’s breath caught in her throat. She stood up silently, letting the blanket drop to the floor. She crept toward the heavy oak door, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
The brass doorknob began to turn. Slowly. Quietly.
Someone was trying to enter her room.
She scanned the dimly lit suite for a weapon. Heavy brass lamp? Too heavy. Glass vase? Too fragile.
The door clicked open an inch, then two.
A gloved hand slipped around the edge of the door, pushing it inward.
Genevieve lunged forward just as the intruder stepped across the threshold. She grabbed the heavy brass poker from the fireplace hearth and swung it with all her remaining strength.
The poker connected with a dull, heavy thud against a shoulder, but the intruder grunted, caught the shaft of the iron rod with a gloved hand, and wrenched it out of her grip with brutal efficiency.
Genevieve stumbled backward, tripping over the rug and hitting the floor hard.
A tall figure stepped into the sliver of light coming from the hallway.
May you like
Arthur Pendleton lowered his black leather gloves, a cold, empty smile carved across his aged face.
“Quiet, my dear,” Arthur whispered, pulling a suppressed pistol from his coat pocket. “Making noise in this house wakes up people who are very difficult to put back to sleep.”
