But it was hers.
She came for Carlo Vespucci on a Tuesday. lady vengeance
“Who invited her?” Carlo growled, cigar smoke curling around his jowls. But it was hers
She was just getting started.
Elena placed a small velvet box on the green felt table. “Open it.” too clean. Instead
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.