C91 The Face of Evil

With an oath, Lucien clutched his chest where the bullet had pierced him as he spun around to shield his wife from the killer who stood in the doorway.

A second shot rang out, hitting his right arm, his firing arm, which now hung lifelessly as the blood-stained his shirt, seeping through to the dinner jacket he wore.

Proserpina mewled a sound of pain, trying vainly to staunch the bleeding