Chapter 4 - Whispers in the Dark
By 2:00 AM, the storm outside had grown into a violent tempest. Thunder echoed across the Providence hills, shaking the heavy glass panes of the upper floor.
Inside the dark master suite, Clare lay awake on the small sofa near the fireplace, wrapped in a fleece blanket. On the bed a few feet away, Maisie was fast asleep, her tiny hand resting over her stuffed rabbit.
Victor sat in a high-backed leather chair near the balcony door, a silver glass of bourbon sitting untouched on the small table beside him. He hadn't slept a wink. His gray-blue eyes remained fixed on the shadow of the hallway door.
Suddenly, a quiet click echoed through the dark room.
The heavy brass handle of the balcony door turned slowly.
Victor didn't make a sound. With fluid, silent grace, he slid out of the leather chair, drawing his custom pistol from his shoulder holster. He moved across the dark rug like a shadow, positioning himself behind the heavy velvet curtains.
The glass door creaked open an inch. A tall figure clad in black tactical gear slipped into the room, holding a silenced handgun raised toward the four-poster bed.
Before the intruder could take a second step, Victor lunged from the shadows.
His broad hand clamped around the intruder’s wrist, twisting the arm upward with terrifying force. The silenced weapon clattered onto the thick rug. Victor slammed the intruder against the stone fireplace mantel, his heavy forearm pressing against the man’s throat.
Clare sat up on the sofa with a sharp gasp, holding the blanket against her chest. "Victor!"
"Stay back!" Victor barked.
The intruder struggled wildly, reaching into his tactical vest to pull a hidden blade. Victor drove a sharp knee into the man’s ribs, disarming him instantly. But as Victor reached up to pull off the intruder’s black face mask, the man activated a small smoke canister attached to his belt.
A dense cloud of grey tear gas exploded between them.
Victor coughed, his eyes stinging as he swung a heavy fist through the smoke, but the intruder slipped from his grip, throwing himself over the balcony railing and dropping down into the rain-drenched gardens below.
Vincent Hale and three armed guards burst through the hallway door seconds later, weapons raised.
"Clear the room! Get the windows shut!" Vincent bellowed, clearing the smoke with a battery-powered fan while two guards secured the balcony edge.
Victor stood near the hearth, breathing heavily, his white shirt damp with sweat. He wiped a smudge of soot from his jaw and looked down at the hearth floor where the intruder had been slammed against the marble.
Lying near the iron grate was a heavy silver cufflink that had torn free from the intruder’s sleeve during the struggle.
Victor knelt down and picked it up.
Engraved on the silver surface was a stylized initial: A.V.
Vincent walked over, looking down at the item in Victor’s palm. His tough face hardened into stone. "Arthur Vance."
Arthur Vance was Victor’s forty-eight-year-old chief financial advisor—the man who managed the Calder family’s legal real estate holdings and sat at Victor's right hand during syndicate meetings.
"He was the one who authorized the security clearance for the lower estate gates tonight," Vincent muttered, his knuckles cracking as he clenched his fists.
Victor stood up slowly, holding the silver cufflink tightly in his hand. His eyes flashed with a cold, terrifying wrath.
"Arthur Vance tried to kill my brother five years ago," Victor said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "And tonight, he tried to finish the job."
"What are your orders, Don Calder?" Vincent asked, bowing his head slightly.
May you like
Victor looked toward the bed, where Clare was holding a frightened, wide-eyed Maisie in her arms.
"We don't wait for midnight," Victor declared. "We hunt him down now."
