The new maid heard weeping beneath the mansion. Opening the heavy basement door, she found the missing wife, starved and chained. As gasps filled the dark room, the wife grabbed her hand, whispering, “Run before he hears you, or he’ll make you my replacement.” Suddenly, footsteps echoed on the stairs…

a stack of rotting wooden wine crates just as the blinding beam of a high-powered tactical flashlight swept down the stairs.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, sharp. Heels clicking on the stone.

Verónica descended into the cellar. She wasn’t carrying a tray tonight. She was carrying a heavy leather riding crop.

“Who broke my lock?” she demanded, her voice continue reading …