The screech of the iron security gates twisting under the bumper of the heavy logging truck down on Fifth Avenue was a sound that didn't belong to the quiet luxury of Manhattan. It was raw, metallic, and violent, echoing up the concrete shafts of the skyscrapers until it reached the glass walls of the penthouse triplex. The alarm panel by the sunroom door continued its low, rhythmic thud, painting the white marble floor in pulses of warning light.
I didn't blink. I didn't shake. The hot blood of Uncle George was already cooling against the wool of my gray dress, turning into a stiff, dark crust that pulled at my skin every time I took a breath. Toby was a dead weight against my chest, his small fingers dug so deep into my neck that he was leaving tiny, white crescent marks on my skin. He
