I kept my hand on the cold iron railing to steady myself.

On the fortieth floor, the air felt even colder.

I stopped at the top landing to catch my breath.

I pulled my pistol from my coat holster and checked the chamber.

The brass of the cartridge gleamed in the dim light.

I put the gun back and reached for the door handle.

It turned easily.

I stepped out into the private hallway of the penthouse.

The floor was covered in a thick, cream-colored rug that swallowed the sound of my shoes.

At the end of the hall, double mahogany doors stood slightly ajar.

I could hear the low murmur of voices from inside.

I walked forward slowly, keeping my back to the wall.

Through the crack in the door, I saw the main living area.

The room was vast, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the harbor.

Rain lashed against the glass, blurring the distant lights of the cargo ships.

Tony was standing by a black marble wet bar.

He held a crystal glass of amber liquid, swirling it slowly.