The knife pricked her back. He pulled her pinned arms to the left, guiding her out of the kitchen and into the main dining room. She slowed her walk as she realized where they were heading—Coffre.

“Philip, please.” The knifepoint pierced her flesh, hushing her pleas. She gasped for air.

“Don’t stop walking,” Philip whispered in her ear.

She picked up her pace. “I didn’t do what Imani said. You have to believe me.”

“Then his wife came down,” Philip continued. “And you know what you did then?”

The tone in which he posed the question turned it into a joke. He wasn’t asking. He was setting up a punch line. Philip didn’t believe she’d killed Nate, Tonya realized. In fact, he knew she hadn’t.

Because he had.

“You won’t be able to pin this on me,” Tonya yelled. “The police will realize that Nate invested in your restaurant.”

Philip yanked her in front of Coffre’s closed vault door. The grip on her hands relaxed. “Turn the wheel and open it.”

Tonya stepped to the side, opting to make a run for it instead. A slash to her oblique changed her mind. Instinctively, her hand went to hold together her severed flesh. Hot blood poured through her fingers.

“Do it!” Philip roared.

Tonya turned the wheel. She knew that he intended to lock her inside, but she’d at least be alive in there. If she tried to run, he’d cut her into pieces.

Tonya’s hands shook as she gripped the wheel. She slowly rotated it. “The cops won’t believe I’m responsible.” Her voice was small and squeaky. Fear had wrapped around her throat like a boa constrictor. “They’ll realize what happened to your parents—that special pâté that you made for your father. They’ll figure out you killed him.”

If Philip reacted to her accusation, Tonya didn’t hear it. Metal pins popped from their locks. She felt the blade at the base of her back. “Open it,” he said.

Tonya closed her eyes and pulled on the wheel. The door inched back. As it did, a rush of hot liquid dribbled onto her thigh. Her exertion was speeding up the bleeding.

Philip pressed the blade into her back as he grabbed the wheel and pulled. The door retracted another foot. A new force slammed into both her shoulder blades. She stumbled forward, tripping over the lip of the vault door.

Her knees crashed into the hardwood floor. “Philip, please!”

The dull thud of the door answered her cry. She flung herself at it, releasing a fresh wave of blood down her side. “Don’t do this!” she screamed into the void enveloping her. “Philip. No! Please!”

A scratching noise sounded behind her. Something moved in this darkness, Tonya realized. She was not alone.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

IMANI