Page 118 of Vicious Kingdom

The elevator doors opened. Our hallway was empty, the lacquered wood floors lit up by inset LEDs that gave the whole space a permanent midnight, even though outside, the city shimmered with an unsleeping glow. I dug the key from my purse, but Leo’s fingers curled around my wrist, stilling me.

I snapped my attention to him.

He was tense. His head angled toward the door to our penthouse suite, nostrils flaring. I’d seen it before—the mobster focused on details I didn’t catch. It was a terrible look, the animal-brain reading a ripple in the atmosphere. Something was off.

He leaned close. “Stay behind me.”

He moved me without force, just a subtle pivot, his body between me and the door. The other hand was already at his side, fingers to the pistol I knew was under the jacket. Other girls might see it as a threat. To me, it was just an extension of his arm, a tool, a thing he might need. I pressed myself againstthe wall, heart hammering so loud I was certain it would tip off whoever was on the other side.

He inserted the key and twisted the handle, slow enough to be deliberate, fast enough that no one inside would hear the scrape and have time to react. He edged the door open with his foot and the gun came up, ready. My pulse went totally silent; I could hear the blood moving in my skull.

There were five of them. Feds. All in variations of the same blue-black suit, all with the same haircut, the same jawlines, the same dull, patient look I’d seen a hundred times in news footage. They filled our entryway, feet spaced for balance, hands empty but in position.

For a split second, Leo looked bored. The barrel of the gun angled down, just a hair.

“You could have called ahead,” he said, and it almost sounded like a joke, but the temperature in the room said it was not.

“Mr. Baldwin.” The one in the front was heavyset, his badge already out. “We need you to come inside. Quietly.”

“No warrant?” Leo’s voice was silk, but the smile never reached his eyes.

The agent held up a sheet of paper. “Judge signed it earlier tonight. New evidence. You know how it is.” He actually tried to smile.

Leo read the first line, then flicked the gun’s safety on, tucking it back into his holster.

“We’ll take that.” An agent held out his hand.

Leo’s face darkened. A muscle in his jaw ticked. He dropped the clip, jacked the bullet from the chamber, and presented the handgun to the man in an open position.

My heart shuddered. It was utterly simple, disarming this beast.

Leo stepped forward, shoulders broad, and the agents instantly drew tighter together, a human net ready to close. Iheard myself make a sound—a little, involuntary gasp, nothing dignified about it.

I have to do something!

Leo turned to me, just for a heartbeat, and in that look I saw a warning to stay calm. He tilted his head, a little old-world gesture, like he wanted to kiss my hand or brush hair from my eyes.

“It’s all right, Annaliese,” he murmured. “They won’t hurt you.”

“We only need you, Mr. Baldwin,” the agent agreed. “Your wife can remain here.”

The desire to rush at the smug, robotic faces rushed through me. I wanted to claw at them. How dare they invade the sanctuary of our home!

“I’d like to call my attorney,” Leo said smoothly.

How he remained so calm, when I knew the explosion pulsed under the surface, was beyond me. He was far more violent than I was, but there he stood, holding back his wrath.

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works. You’ll be permitted to call your attorney. But you’re under house arrest, effective immediately.” The leader took a step forward.

Leo’s jaw locked so tight I thought his teeth might snap. But his voice stayed calm, even gentle.

“You can’t do this!” I found my voice. “He hasn’t been tried and sentenced.”

“He’s a person of interest, and we can’t have him escaping.” The agent’s face was as unreadable as a slab of wet concrete.

“It’s fine,” Leo said, and for a moment, there was a pulse of command in the air that almost made the agent seem powerless.

But then he was handed something. An anklet. A tracking device, sleek as a fitness band but with a lock that looked industrial, final—binding. The agents didn’t bother pretending it was anything else.