Page 102 of Letters From Victor

A chill curled through me. “Nice enough.”

The low growl of an engine made us both turn toward the front of the house. Headlights slashed across the walls, casting long, jagged shadows. My heart slammed against my ribs.

The engine cut. A car door slammed, cracking through the silence like a gunshot.

I lunged for the window, but Kowalski was quicker than he looked. He clamped thick fingers around my wrist and yanked me back as he pulled a revolver from his waistband.

“Sit tight,” he growled, jerking the gun toward the chair beside the telephone table. My legs folded before my mind caught up.

Kowalski moved to the window, peeking through the drawn curtains. “Looks like your white knight is here,” he said, his voice tinged with something like glee. He turned to me, the gun now pointed squarely at my chest. “Don’t get any crackpot ideas, or you’re both finished.”

Kowalski moved to the hinged side of the door, pressing himself into the shadows where he’d be invisible until it was too late. The revolver in his hand looked absurdly small against his meaty paw, but I knew it was lethal enough. My breath turned shallow as I imagined Victor stepping blindly into the lion’s den.

The sound of a key entering the lock sent my heart into a frenzy. The door creaked open, and the sticky night air rushed into the foyer. Victor stood silhouetted by the porch light, revolver in hand. He scanned the room, and his eyes locked with mine. Relief washed over his features, but it shattered the instant he took in my rigid posture and the fear etched on my face.

“Barbara,” he breathed, starting toward me.

“Victor—” I began, but it was too late.

Kowalski lunged from his hiding spot, swinging the revolver at Victor’s head. Victor ducked and twisted just in time to dodge the blow, but Kowalski’s momentum carried him forward, sending both men crashing into the wall. The force of their collision rocked the entire house. Plaster cracked and rained down like snow.

Victor recovered first, spinning on his heel, revolver trained on Kowalski. A deafening crack split the air as Victor squeezed the trigger, too quickly to be sure. A bullet buried itself in the wall, inches from Kowalski’s head.

I screamed, hands flying to my mouth as the shot’s reverberations rang in my ears and sent my head spinning with terror and adrenaline.

Kowalski roared and swatted Victor’s hand, knocking the gun from his grip and sending it skittering across the hardwood floor and into the living room. He swung a thick, meaty fist at Victor’s jaw, but Victor sidestepped, fluid and calculated, delivering a sharp elbow to Kowalski’s ribs. The brute grunted in pain but didn’t buckle.

“You think you’re tough, Cardello?” Kowalski spat through clenched teeth, his face beet red, eyes bulging with fury. He grabbed Victor by the lapels of his suit and slammed him against the wall again, the impact leaving a man-shaped dent in theplaster. Victor’s head lolled for a moment, dazed, as his body hung limp.

“Victor!” I cried out, voice raw with panic. I jumped to my feet, hands trembling as I searched for anything to help.

“Shut up!” Kowalski snarled, his beady eyes flicking toward me for a split second. The menacing grin on his face widened, grotesque and gleeful. He was enjoying this.

Kowalski jammed the barrel of his revolver under Victor’s chin. The cold steel bit into his skin, and Victor’s neck tensed as he tried to hold himself still, swallowing harshly. My heart seized, the shifting, precarious balance of power beyond overwhelming. The room fell deathly quiet—the kind of silence that hovers just before a storm breaks.

I had to do something.

If I stayed frozen—if I obeyed—we were finished. My eyes darted to Victor’s gun on the floor—just a few feet away from where I stood. It might as well have been a mile.

Still, with every ounce of backbone I had, I took a slow, measured step toward the gun. Then another. Kowalski, too absorbed in taunting Victor, failed to notice—until he did.

“Barbara, no!” Victor shouted as Kowalski dropped him and lunged at me.

His thick arm caught me across the chest, sending me sprawling backward. Pain exploded in my shoulder as I collided with the doorframe. He snatched up Victor’s gun from the floor and wheeled around, a grotesque grin splitting his coarse features. He held two guns now, one in each of his beefy hands, and both barrels were aimed with deadly intent—one at Victor, who staggered to his feet, clutching his neck, and the other at me, where I pressed myself against the wall.

“Sit tight, doll face,” Kowalski sneered. “Wouldn’t want you to catch a stray.”

Terror surged through me like ice water in my veins. This was it.

Victor wiped a smear of blood from his lips, his eyes never leaving the twin barrels Kowalski wielded.

“I’m the one you want, Kowalski,” Victor said, his voice rough but measured. “This is between you and me. Let her go.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” Kowalski said, his grin widening to a deranged crescent—dangerous and feral. “Where’s the fun in that? I’m in the business of having fun tonight. Your pal Phil and I already had a grand old time. But I think you know that. Or, at least, I hope you do.”

Victor’s eyes flickered—a subtle shift, but I caught it. He was calculating. “Phil had it coming,” he said, his tone dismissive. “He was a thief and a rat.” Victor shrugged and took a casual step forward. “You actually did me a favor.”

Kowalski’s laugh was a guttural bark, like a dog with a bone lodged in its throat. “Is that right? Maybe I’ll do you another favor, Cardello, and take care of your little lady here next.” He jerked his chin in my direction, swinging the gun barrel with it. “Gals like that make a man weak, and she looks like a real liability.”

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