His grip was weak, his skin slick with the sweat of the poison running through his veins.

“Stay behind me, Nina,” Alexander murmured, his fingers tightening slightly around mine.

Even near death, he was trying to protect the housemaid who had done nothing but clean his floors and watch his secrets.

A second flash of lightning lit the room, casting long, skeletal shadows across the Persian rug.

In that brief, brilliant white light, I saw the door handle slowly turn.

Marcus stood by the desk, his hand submerged in the open drawer, his face frozen in the glare.

Dr. Voss was crouched near the medical bag by the sofa, her eyes wide behind her wire-rimmed glasses.

Then the light vanished, leaving us in blackness again.

The door clicked open, and the heavy smell of wet wool and gun oil drifted into the room.

“Do not move, Marcus,” a voice said from the doorway.

It was Luca.

His voice was calm, almost pleasant, carrying the easy warmth he always used when he wanted to charm someone.