She came for Carlo Vespucci on a Tuesday.
For twenty years, Carlo had believed himself untouchable. He ran the docks, the numbers, the whispers in the dark. He had ordered the death of Elena Marchese’s father—a lowly accountant who’d seen one ledger too many. Elena had been seven years old, hiding in a closet, watching through the slats as Carlo’s men put a bullet through her father’s skull. lady vengeance
Carlo flipped open the box. Inside was a single key, rusted and bent. She came for Carlo Vespucci on a Tuesday
She didn’t use a gun. That would be too fast, too clean. Instead, she had spent five years cultivating a poison that mimicked a heart attack—slow, agonizing, undetectable. She had already laced his whiskey when she walked in. He had ordered the death of Elena Marchese’s
She was just getting started.
“Who invited her?” Carlo growled, cigar smoke curling around his jowls.
He collapsed face-first onto the felt, scattering chips and cards. His last breath smelled of whiskey and fear.