The emergency generators of the penthouse failed to kick in. One second, the skyline of Central Park South was framed by floor-to-ceiling glass, and the next, the world was swallowed by a heavy, suffocating blackness. The digital heart monitor beside Leo’s bed was the only exception, casting a rhythmic, sickly green pulse across the room.

The emergency generators of the penthouse failed to kick in.

One second, the skyline of Central Park South was framed by floor-to-ceiling glass, and the next, the world was swallowed by a heavy, suffocating blackness. The digital heart monitor beside Leo’s bed was the only exception, casting a rhythmic, sickly green pulse across the room.

Beep.

“Doctor Sterling,” Vincent’s voice cut through the dark, cold as ice. “Keep him breathing.”

“I’m trying, but the backup tank is—”

A sharp metallic clink rang out from the foyer. It was unmistakable. The sound of a silencer being screwed onto the barrel of a pistol.

Celia’s breath caught in her throat. She flattened herself against the wall, her fingers digging into the imported Venetian plaster. Every nerve ending screamed at her to run, but her legs were lead. She looked toward the bed where seven-year-old Leo lay paralyzed by synthetic poison, completely defenseless.

“Tommy,” Vincent commanded softly, his shadow gliding past Celia without a sound. “The balcony doors. Simon didn’t take the elevator. He rappelled down from the roof. He wants it to look like a botched hit by rivals.”

“On it, Boss,” Tommy muttered, his heavy boots shifting on the marble.

Suddenly, the glass doors facing Central Park shattered inward. A gust of cold, rainy wind howled into the penthouse, carrying the smell of wet asphalt and gunsmoke. A dark silhouette stepped through the shards, leaning heavily on a carved handle — a silver cane that gleamed faintly in the green light of the heart monitor.

“Nephew,” a raspy, aged voice cackled over the wind. “You always did build your fortresses too high. Hard to hear the rats gnawing at the foundation when you’re up in the clouds.”

“Uncle Simon,” Vincent replied, stepping out from the shadows near the grand piano. “You always were impatient. Could you not wait until I drew my last breath naturally?”

“Why wait when the empire is rotting from the head down?” Simon sneered, raising his pistol. But before he could pull the trigger, Tommy lunged from the darkness like a freight train, slamming the old man into the baby grand piano.

The instrument groaned under the impact, keys clashing in a horrific, discordant chord.

“Tie him up,” Vincent commanded, his voice devoid of any emotion. He turned his head slightly in Celia’s direction. “Celia. Grab Leo’s medical bag from the side table and bring it here. Now.”

Celia didn’t hesitate. She scrambled across the dark floor, her hands trembling as she grabbed the heavy leather bag. As she handed it to Dr. Sterling, a red laser dot flickered across the wall, landing squarely on Vincent’s chest.