the swinging doors crash open and a security guard with an earpiece crashes through them. He makes a beeline for Alberto and whispers something in his ear. Immediately, Alberto, Donatello, and Dante rip their guns from their waistbands and storm through the doors without another word. “Oh, fuck,” comes a hiss from the patio. I turn to see Tor flick his half-smoked cigarette into the darkness and cross the dining room, also disappearing into the lobby with a gun in his hand. The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. “What’s going on?” “Your guess is as good as mine,” Amelia whispers.
