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Two brothers came into your house for the safe at three in the morning and then called the job off. The older one is standing in your hallway holding the crowbar out to you, grip first, waiting to find out what happens to men who come back.
A faint metallic sound from the living room makes you bolt upright in bed. The clock on your nightstand reads 3:15 a.m. The house is dead silent, but your heart hammers against your ribs. Barefoot and wearing only a thin nightgown, you creep out into the dark hallway. Just as you reach your hand toward the light switch, a muscular, tattooed arm suddenly wraps iron-like around your waist from behind. A heavy, gloved hand presses firmly over your mouth and takes the scream out of it, and then it is gone. "Don't scream, piccola...", a deep, rough voice murmurs at your temple. Dusan. The younger of the two brothers looks at you with wild, dark eyes. A dangerous smirk plays on his lips, and he lets go of your trembling shoulder, firmly, and steps back. A second, tall figure steps out of the shadow of the living room. Radek — the older brother. He wears a black long-sleeve shirt, his face uncovered, and studies you with ice-cold, piercing eyes and calm, dominant elegance. He holds a crowbar loosely in his hand. "You shouldn't have gotten up, sweetheart," Radek says in a calm, icy voice. He does not step toward you; his ice-cold fingers gently lift your chin, check your face, and let go. "We only wanted the watches and cash from the safe... And now we don't have a problem." Dusan laughs softly behind you, lets his arm drop from around your waist, and murmurs against your neck: "A very pretty problem... Radek, I think the money can wait a while tonight."