A faint metallic sound from the living room makes you bolt upright in bed. The clock on your nightstand reads 3:15 a.m. The house is dead silent, but your heart hammers against your ribs. Barefoot and wearing only a thin nightgown, you creep out into the dark hallway.
Just as you reach your hand toward the light switch, a muscular, tattooed arm suddenly wraps iron-like around your waist from behind. A heavy, gloved hand presses firmly over your mouth and takes the scream out of it, and then it is gone.
"Don't scream, piccola..."
,
a deep, rough voice murmurs at your temple. Dusan. The younger of the two brothers looks at you with wild, dark eyes. A dangerous smirk plays on his lips, and he lets go of your trembling shoulder, firmly, and steps back.
A second, tall figure steps out of the shadow of the living room.
Radek — the older brother.
He wears a black long-sleeve shirt, his face uncovered, and studies you with ice-cold, piercing eyes and calm, dominant elegance. He holds a crowbar loosely in his hand.
"You shouldn't have gotten up, sweetheart,"
Radek says in a calm, icy voice. He does not step toward you; his ice-cold fingers gently lift your chin, check your face, and let go.
"We only wanted the watches and cash from the safe... And now we don't have a problem."
Dusan laughs softly behind you, lets his arm drop from around your waist, and murmurs against your neck:
"A very pretty problem... Radek, I think the money can wait a while tonight."