Chapter 4
The relentless pounding on the front door vibrated through the floorboards, shaking the remaining birthday decorations dangling from the ceiling. Aunt Martha retreated backward until the back of her knees hit the sofa, her hands trembling as she clutched a decorative throw pillow to her chest like a shield. Uncle Greg stood frozen near the coffee table, staring at the shattered remains of the birthday cake as if the frosted sponge held the answers to their impending doom.
Laura stood up slowly from the floor, her legs feeling like lead. The sticky blue frosting on her face felt tight and burning against her skin, but she didn't care about her appearance anymore. Survival had replaced pride in a matter of seconds. She glanced down at the wooden stick lying against the baseboard, then looked back at the front door as the wood groaned under the weight of another heavy, calculated shoulder strike.
"Open the door, David! We know you're in there!" a deep, gravelly voice boomed from the porch, muffled slightly by the thick oak paneling. "You can't hide behind your family forever!"
Iris scrambled backward on the carpet, pressing herself flat against the hallway wall, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her head.
"That's not Uncle David's voice," Iris whispered, her teeth chattering audibly. "That's Viktor. He's the one who runs the docks."
Laura swallowed hard, her throat feeling as dry as sandpaper. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to summon whatever courage she had left. She looked at Greg, silently pleading for him to take charge, but her brother-in-law simply shook his head, his face pale and eyes wide with undisguised cowardice.
"Greg, do something," Laura hissed in a harsh whisper. "Go to the door."
"Are you insane?" Greg whispered back, his voice pitching up in panic. "Those men don't want to talk. They carry weapons, Laura! If I open that door, we'll all end up in a ditch by morning."
The deadbolt rattled violently again, the metal latch screaming in protest as another heavy blow hit the center of the door. A loud crack split the silence as the wooden frame splintered outward, revealing a dark shadow standing on the porch under the flickering porch light.
Laura knew she couldn't wait for Greg. Moving with sudden, desperate urgency, she lunged across the floor and scooped up the wooden stick. She positioned herself directly in front of the hallway where Iris sat cowering, planting her feet wide apart on the hardwood floor just as the front door swung wide open with a deafening crash.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into the warm, brightly lit living room. He wore a dark wool overcoat, his face shadowed by the brim of a fedora. Behind him, two larger men stood in the shadows of the porch, their silhouettes menacing and immovable.
Viktor scanned the ruined living room, his eyes lingering for a fraction of a second on the colorful birthday balloons before shifting coldly to Laura, who stood gripping the wooden stick with white-knuckled intensity.
"Where is he?" Viktor asked, his voice disturbingly calm as he stepped further into the room, kicking a piece of blue-frosted cake aside with the toe of his expensive leather shoe. "Your brother owes us fifty thousand dollars, and time ran out ten minutes ago."
Laura raised the wooden stick, her hands shaking but her eyes burning with fierce maternal defiance.
"He's not here," Laura said, her voice steady despite the terror gripping her heart. "And even if he were, you aren't getting a dime from this house."
May you like
Viktor smiled, a cold, humorless twitch of the lips that didn't reach his dead eyes. He slowly reached inside his dark wool overcoat, his hand disappearing into the heavy fabric.
"That's unfortunate," Viktor replied softly, pulling out a heavy manila envelope and tossing it onto the shattered remains of the birthday cake. "Because your brother didn't just borrow money. He used this house as collateral, and the deed is already in my pocket."
