Chapter 3 - The Price of Discretion
Julian’s chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow breaths. The tough exterior he wore like armor cracked slightly, revealing the profound terror lurking beneath his serious expression. He looked down at his useless legs, covered neatly by the green blanket, and then back up at Maeve.
“It’s not what you think,” Julian whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “Or maybe... maybe it’s exactly what you think. I didn't kill him, Maeve. I swear to you on everything I have left.”
“Then who did?” Maeve pressed, glancing nervously toward the hallway. “Julian, you’re paralyzed from the chest down. You couldn’t have dragged a body up here, and you certainly couldn’t have hidden a murder weapon under your own mattress by yourself. Elena did this, didn’t she?”
Before Julian could answer, the sharp chime of the penthouse elevator echoed faintly from the private foyer outside. Someone was coming up, and based on the hurried, uneven footsteps hitting the marble floor, it wasn’t Elena returning for breakfast.
Julian’s eyes widened in sudden panic. He reached out and grabbed Maeve’s wrist with surprising strength, his calloused fingers digging into her skin. “Hide,” he hissed, his voice desperate. “Get into the adjoining bathroom right now. If Viktor finds you in here asking questions, neither of us will see tomorrow.”
“Viktor? Who the hell is Viktor?” Maeve demanded, trying to pull her arm away, but Julian’s grip was ironclad.
“Elena’s brother,” Julian growled, his face pale. “The man who actually pulled the trigger. Go!”
Without waiting for another word, Julian shoved her toward the open bathroom door. Maeve stumbled backward, catching herself on the marble vanity just as the heavy bedroom door swung open with a loud bang. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and a tailored gray suit strode into the room, holding a leather briefcase and smelling faintly of stale cigarette smoke and expensive whiskey.
Through the crack of the half-closed bathroom door, Maeve held her breath and watched.
Viktor walked straight past the grand bed without a glance, stopping directly in front of Julian’s wheelchair. He didn't offer a greeting. Instead, Viktor reached out, grabbed Julian by the collar of his shirt, and yanked him forward so hard the wheelchair rocked violently on its wheels.
“The police are asking questions about the financial transfer from the victim's account,” Viktor said, his voice a low, threatening growl. “And you’re sitting here playing invalid while your little maid changes the sheets. What did she see, Julian?”
May you like
Julian coughed, struggling to catch his breath as Viktor’s knuckles pressed into his throat. “She didn’t see a damn thing,” Julian choked out, his eyes darting toward the bathroom door where Maeve was hiding.
---
