But it was hers.
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. lady vengeance
Carlo flipped open the box. Inside was a single key, rusted and bent. But it was hers
She came for Carlo Vespucci on a Tuesday. too clean. Instead
Elena placed a small velvet box on the green felt table. “Open it.”
“You don’t remember me,” Elena said, tilting her head. “But I remember everything. The way you laughed after. The way you wiped your shoes on the rug. The way you told your men to leave the body for his daughter to find.”