Chapter 322: Break in
The house was quiet, bathed in the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the large windows. Everything seemed still—eerily so—but beneath the surface, an undercurrent of tension simmered. Remo paced silently in the study, his thoughts consumed with the recent turmoil that had unfolded. Abby’s erratic behavior, her paranoia, and the increasingly strained conversations weighed heavily on him. Something wasn’t right, and despite her protests, he knew deep down that whatever was happening went far beyond stress or recovery from the hospital incident.
He had grown suspicious over the last few days. Abby’s outbursts were becoming more frequent, and her behavior seemed increasingly irrational. There was a darkness behind her eyes, something that chilled him to his core. And then there were the whispers, the subtle hints she dropped that suggested she believed someone was out to get her.
Remo had heard stories of manipulations before, of people being pushed to their breaking points by those they trusted. And though it was difficult for him to admit, the thought had crossed his mind—was Abby being played? Or worse, was someone targeting both of them?
Tonight, he had planned to leave the house for business, a meeting arranged to discuss damage control after the public outburst outside the hospital. But something gnawed at him, a strange feeling he couldn’t shake. It was like a sixth sense, the kind that had saved him countless times before. He decided to stay home, telling his men he’d deal with the situation later.
He didn’t know what he was expecting, but instinct told him he was right to stay.
As the house fell silent, the front door clicked softly, a shadow slipping inside. The assassin moved quietly, gliding through the hallway like a ghost. He had been briefed thoroughly—tonight’s job was straightforward: frame Remo Quinn for a violent confrontation with his wife, make it look like a domestic dispute turned deadly. Every detail had been considered, from planting Remo’s fingerprints on key items to scattering signs of a struggle. Margaret and Dominic had hired the best, and he took pride in his work.
He slipped into the living room, his gloved hands working methodically as he tampered with the glass of whiskey sitting on the side table, making sure Remo’s fingerprints would be found on the shattered remains. Then he moved toward the bookshelf, loosening one of the heavy volumes, ready to place it near a point of impact. Everything had to be perfect, and his timing was crucial.
But as he reached for the knife hidden beneath his coat, ready to stage the final scene, something made him freeze.
Footsteps.