“Vargas,” Victor said, his voice weaker now. “My security…”

“They are gone,” I said.

I walked back to him and took his arm.

“We need to go. Now.”

He struggled to his feet, groaning as the movement tore at his wound.

I draped his arm over my shoulder, taking most of his weight.

“The back stairs,” he muttered, pointing a trembling finger toward the bookshelf.

“There is a latch behind the copy of Dante.”

I reached for the shelf, my fingers finding the cold metal lever behind the leather-bound book.

With a heavy click, a section of the wall swung inward, revealing a dark, narrow corridor.

As we stepped inside, the front doors of the estate downstairs burst open with a loud explosion.

The sound of automatic gunfire echoed through the foyer.

I pulled the hidden door shut behind us, plunging us into absolute darkness.

“Can you walk?” I whispered, my hand searching for his shoulder in the dark.

“I have to,” he breathed, his hand gripping my arm.

The air in the secret passage smelled of damp stone and old timber.