I laid them down on their small beds, still in their warm coats, and covered them with a wool blanket.

I walked to the front window of my studio and looked down at the street.

The black sedan was gone.

A single silver SUV was parked under the flickering streetlight, its headlights turned off.

One of Benjamin’s security guards was inside, watching the entrance.

I went to my wooden workbench and picked up my phone.

My hands were still trembling.

I looked at the oil paintings stacked against the brick wall, the quiet life I had built here.

That life was over.

Jonathan was going to war with Rebecca, and we were caught in the middle of the crossfire.

The phone in my hand vibrated.

A text message popped up on the screen.

It was from Jonathan’s private number.

*I am coming to Brooklyn.*

I stared at the glowing words, my breath catching in my throat.

Before I could type a reply, the heavy buzzer to my building rang.

It was a long, loud ring that echoed through the quiet loft.

I froze, looking toward the dark hallway.