Chapter 3 - The Knocker at the Gate
The hallway outside door fourteen was dark, the single lightbulb at the end of the corridor flickering like a dying star. Hollis placed her hand against the cold wood of the door, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"Who is it?" she called out, keeping her voice level, pitching it just high enough to sound like a tired mother interrupted during her morning chores.
"Open the door, ma'am," a voice replied. It was deep, modulated, and entirely devoid of emotion. It was the voice of a man who didn't ask questions because he already knew the answers. "We’re looking for someone who came into this building last night. A young woman."
Hollis looked back through the crack of the kitchen partition. Wynn had crawled off the bed and was trying to squeeze herself into the narrow space between the wardrobe and the wall, her face pale, her lips moving in a silent prayer. Posy was standing by her mother’s side now, clutching the hem of Hollis’s faded apron.
"You have the wrong apartment," Hollis said, her hand moving to the deadbolt, ensuring it was turned fully to the right. "It’s just me and my daughter here. I don't know anything about a young woman."
A heavy silence followed her words. For a long, agonizing five seconds, the only sound was the wind howling against the loose glass of the hallway window. Then, the voice spoke again, closer to the wood this time.
"We know she’s in there, Miss Brennan. We followed the trail from the alley behind Halloran Tower. You work the night cleaning shift there, don't you? Left at 12:45 AM. Arrived here at 1:20 AM, carrying a heavy load. Now, you can open this door nicely, or we can make a great deal of noise, which I’m sure your little girl wouldn't appreciate."
Hollis felt a cold sweat break out along her hairline. They knew her name. They had tracked her from her workplace. These weren't street thugs; these were professionals who had access to the building’s employment logs and security schedules.
"Mama," Posy whispered, her eyes wide with confusion. "Who is that?"
"Shh, baby, go to the bathroom and stay there," Hollis murmured, her hand gently nudging her daughter toward the small toilet room in the back. Once Posy was safely inside, Hollis turned back to the door, her courage hardening into a cold, protective rage.
"If you don't leave my property right now, I’m screaming out the window for the neighbors," Hollis threatened, though she knew the tenants in this building were more likely to lock their doors tighter than come to her rescue. "The police precinct is only four blocks away."
A low, mocking chuckle came from the other side. "Call the police, Miss Brennan. See how fast Captain Miller dispatches a squad car to a third-floor tenement when Victor Castellano tells him to stay in bed. Open the door. We only want the girl. You give her to us, and you get to keep your job, your apartment, and your pretty little daughter."
The mention of Posy was the final straw. Hollis’s vision went sharp at the edges. They were threatening her child.
Before she could answer, a sudden explosion of noise shattered the quiet of the hallway.
It wasn't the sound of her door breaking down. It was the sound of metal hitting flesh, followed by a heavy, choked groan and the unmistakable crack of a body being slammed into the plaster wall outside.
"What the hell—" the voice outside started, followed by the muffled thump of a silenced gun firing into the floorboards.
Then came a deeper, much more terrifying voice, a voice that carried the weight of an executioner's axe. "You're a long way from the North District, Miller. And you're standing on the wrong side of my city."
A brutal, brief struggle echoed through the thin walls. Hollis stood frozen, her hands pressed against the door as she listened to the sounds of a swift, merciless dismantling. There was a dull crack—the sound of a jaw breaking—and then the heavy, unceremonious slide of two bodies falling down the stairs, tumbling into the darkness below.
Then, silence returned.
Hollis stood with her breath caught in her throat, her hand hovering over the lock.
May you like
The slow, rhythmic knock returned. Two taps this time. Clean. Deliberate.
"Miss Brennan," the deep voice said from the other side. It didn't sound angry or rushed. It sounded like a man who had just cleared a minor inconvenience from his path. "My name is Sullivan Castellano. I believe you have my sister."
