Chapter 4 - The Threat in the Basement
The cold steel of a pocket knife pressed directly beneath Mara’s jawline.
The scent of expensive cologne and bitter almonds radiated from Viktor’s dark overcoat.
"Not a sound, little maid," Viktor whispered against her ear, his breath hot and rancid with menace.
Dr. Sterling stood in the corner, trembling like a wet dog, clutching an aluminum briefcase.
"She heard everything," Sterling whimpered.
"Kill her, Viktor.
If she tells Damian, we are dead men before dawn."
Viktor’s eyes remained fixed on Mara’s terrified face, his knife biting just deep enough to prick the surface of her skin.
"Killing her now raises too many questions," Viktor muttered, thinking rapidly.
"Damian’s men inspect every trash bin and trunk leaving the gates.
Listen to me very carefully, Mara."
He pressed the flat side of the blade against her cheek, tapping it rhythmically.
"You have a lovely little girl with broken ears upstairs," Viktor said with a sinister smile.
"It would be a terrible tragedy if someone cut her other ear off.
Or perhaps tossed her into the harbor inside a weighted laundry sack."
Tears streamed silently down Mara’s cheeks as she nodded in frantic submission.
"You will return to your room," Viktor commanded, releasing his grip on her collar.
"You will tell Damian that Dr. Sterling admitted to an accidental pharmaceutical error.
If you utter one syllable about me, I won't just kill your daughter.
I will make you watch every second of it."
He shoved her violently out into the corridor.
Mara stumbled against the stone wall, clutching her bleeding neck, her soul screaming in silent agony.
She ran up the service stairs, her vision blurred by pure terror.
She burst into the master suite, intending to grab Lila and jump from the second-story balcony to escape into the woods.
Instead, she froze at the threshold.
Damian was standing upright in the center of the room without his cane.
His posture was rigid, his eyes burning like twin stars against the darkness of the room.
Lila was sitting on the edge of the large mahogany desk, pointing directly at the ornamental antique mirror on the wall.
Behind the two-way glass of that mirror sat the mansion's private surveillance monitor.
Damian walked slowly toward Mara, his gaze dropping to the thin bead of red blood trickling down her throat.
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"You don't have to lie to me, Mara," Damian said in a low, terrifying growl.
"I watched the entire basement camera feed two minutes ago."
