“But you’re not the man they described.”
Vincent said nothing.
He had never cared what anyone thought.
Yet hearing those words from someone who had spent three years observing every ordinary moment of his life felt strangely different.
Outside the closet…
Marcus stopped.
“Wait.”
Every muscle in Elena’s body tensed.
“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.”
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.
Marcus fired back.
The bullet grazed Vincent’s shoulder.
Elena pulled him toward the hidden wall behind the suits.
“Here!”
She pressed a small brass hook.
Click.
A section of the wall slid open.
