CHAPTER 31 : Caught in the Act

The service elevator hummed as it climbed the forty floors to the penthouse.

I pulled the hood of the oversized sweatshirt down, trying to smooth my messy hair. My heart was hammering against my ribs.

"He is going to be asleep," I whispered to myself. "He took the painkillers. He won't know I was gone."

Marcus stood next to me. He looked like a man marching to the gallows.

"He wakes up every two hours, Mrs. Thorne," Marcus said grimly. "If he rang the bell and I wasn't there..."

"Then we say I was hungry," I said. "We went to the kitchen. Or the pharmacy."

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

The penthouse was dark.

I stepped out into the hallway, tiptoeing across the marble floor. I held my breath, listening for any sound.

Silence.

"Clear," I mouthed to Marcus.

He let out a sigh of relief and moved toward his security station.

I crept toward the master bedroom. The door was cracked open, just as I had left it. I pushed it gently, slipping inside.

The room was pitch black. The curtains were drawn tight.

I exhaled. He was still asleep.

I turned to close the door.

"Did you get what you needed?"

The voice came from the shadows. It was low, deep, and ice cold.

I froze.

The bedside lamp clicked on.

Julian was not in bed.

He was sitting in the wingback chair in the corner of the room. He was wearing his black silk pajamas, his chest bare. The white bandage on his side stood out starkly against his tan skin.

His face was a mask of fury.

"Julian," I stammered. "I... I thought you were sleeping."

"Clearly," he said. He didn't raise his voice. That was worse. "Where were you?"

"I told you. I was just—"

"Don't lie to me, Vivian."

He stood up. He grimaced as the movement pulled at his wound, but he ignored it. He walked toward me slowly, like a predator stalking prey.

"I woke up. You were gone. Marcus was gone. The security feed for the elevator was looped."

He stopped inches from me. He reached out and touched the damp shoulder of my sweatshirt.

"It's raining outside," he said softly. "You didn't go to the kitchen. You went out."

I looked into his storm-gray eyes. There was no point in lying. He was too smart.

"I went to Queens," I admitted.

Julian’s eyes widened. "Queens? Are you insane? There is a hit out on us!"

"I went to see an informant," I said, stepping closer to him. "I found out who sent the roses. I found out who wants you dead."

"I don't care!" Julian roared. The shout echoed off the walls. "I don't care about the roses! I care about you!"

He grabbed my shoulders. His grip was hard, desperate.

"Do you have any idea what went through my head when I saw this empty room? I thought they had taken you. I thought I had lost you again."

"I had to do something!" I shouted back. "You are hurt! You can't fight right now, so I have to!"

"You aren't a soldier!"

"I am your wife!" I yelled. "And Martha told me who it is. It's Silas Vencetti. He is here, Julian. And he is coming for us."

Julian froze. His anger vanished, replaced by a cold, deadly focus.

"Silas?" he whispered.

"Yes. The Butcher. She said he plays with his food. She said he wants to destroy everything you love."

Julian let go of me. He turned away, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Silas," he cursed. "I should have killed him in Moscow ten years ago."

He walked to the nightstand and opened the drawer. He pulled out his handgun. He checked the magazine with practiced efficiency.

"We are moving," he said. "The penthouse isn't safe. If Silas is in the city, he knows the security protocols."

"Where are we going?"

"Safe house. Upstate." He turned back to me, the gun heavy in his hand. "Pack a bag. Five minutes."

"Julian, you can't travel. You'll bleed out."

"I would rather bleed out in a car than watch Silas Vencetti touch you."

He moved to the door. "Marcus! Prep the car!"

Click.

The lights in the room went out.

The lamp died. The hallway light died. The entire penthouse plunged into absolute darkness.

"Marcus?" Julian called out.

Silence.

Then, a sound came from the living room.

Thump.

It was the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor.

Julian grabbed my arm, pulling me behind him. He raised the gun toward the bedroom door.

"Get in the closet," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Lock it from the inside. Do not come out unless you hear my voice."

"I'm not leaving you," I hissed.

"Vivian!"

Creak.

The floorboards in the hallway groaned. Someone was walking toward the bedroom.

"Hello, Julian," a voice called out from the darkness. It was a smooth, cultured voice. "I love what you've done with the place."

Julian stiffened.

"Silas," he growled.

"I brought a gift," Silas said. "But I think your doorman is taking a nap."

Something round rolled across the floor and bumped against the doorframe.

Julian didn't look. He shoved me backward toward the walk-in closet.

"Go!" he roared.

He raised the gun and fired blindly into the hallway.

BANG! BANG!

The muzzle flashes lit up the room like lightning. In the brief flash, I saw a shadow standing in the doorway.

And I saw the object on the floor.

It wasn't a gift. It was a gas grenade.

Hiss.

White smoke began to fill the room.