Chapter 4 - THE METRONOME'S SECRET
The crack of a gunshot did not come from Marcus’s gun.
It erupted from the landing below—a suppressed, sharp double-tap that echoed up the winding staircase, followed by the heavy thud of a body crashing down the polished wood steps.
Marcus flinched, his eyes darting toward the stairwell. That split second of distraction was all Vincent needed.
Vincent moved with terrifying speed. He lunged forward, his left arm knocking Marcus’s gun hand upward just as Marcus pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the plaster above Julian’s doorway, showering white dust over the floor. Vincent’s right fist drove into Marcus’s throat with brutal precision, slamming the older man hard against the opposite hallway wall.
The gun clattered to the carpet. Marcus choked, his face turning purple as Vincent’s hand pinned him by the throat, lifting his heels clean off the floorboards.
"You let my brother burn," Vincent whispered, his voice a guttural growl that made the hairs on my arms stand up. "You put him in a car with broken brakes and called him weak."
"Vincent, behind you!" I screamed.
Two men in black tactical gear crested the top of the stairs, suppressed submachine guns raised. But before they could clear the banister, a barrage of rifle fire from the lower level shredded the wooden balusters. The two men crumpled instantly, collapsing over the railing into the foyer below.
A lean man in a tailored gray suit stepped calmly past the bodies, a smoking pistol in his hand. It was Leo, Vincent’s personal driver and a former military contractor who had served Vincent’s father long before Marcus had gained influence.
"Perimeter compromised, boss," Leo said calmly, reloading his weapon with a practiced flick of his wrist. "Three tactical units breached the back gate. Vance’s private payroll. We have about ninety seconds before the second wave hits the stairs."
Marcus dropped to his knees, gasping for air, clutching his bruised throat. A twisted, bloody smile spread across his lips. "You're trapped, Vinnie," he wheezed. "Every exit on Eighty-Second is barricaded. The city won't let you walk out of here alive."
Vincent didn't answer him. He spun around, caught me by the elbow, and hauled me and Sophie back into the music room, slamming the reinforced double doors shut and throwing the heavy deadbolt.
Sophie began to cry, terrified by the loud cracks and the plaster dust clinging to her yellow cardigan. I scooped her into my arms, pressing her face into my neck, my entire body shaking uncontrollably.
"The metronome," Vincent barked, his eyes scanning the room. "Julian said the metronome!"
I pointed a trembling finger toward the dark rosewood pyramid sitting atop the Steinway. Vincent rushed over, snatched the wooden device, and smashed it against the edge of the marble fireplace. The polished wood split open, spilling bronze gears, a coiled spring, and a small, sealed cylinder of blackened metal onto the hearth.
Inside the cylinder was a tightly rolled strip of high-resolution microfiche and a handwritten note in Julian’s unmistakable looping cursive: Bank of Geneva, Account 4409. Marcus’s private holding. Proof of payoff to the federal prosecutor.
May you like
Vincent pocketed the film, his expression turning to stone. "Leo!" he shouted through the heavy door. "Bring the breach charges to the gallery wall. We're taking the brownstone passage."
Outside, the heavy wood of the music room door rattled violently as a sledgehammer struck the exterior lock.
