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.
