The whiskey burned as it slid down Matilda’s throat, but she barely tasted it. The night wasn’t over.
She stood in the ruins of her penthouse, the bodies of The Consortium’s best assassins sprawled around her. The scent of gunpowder clung to the air, mixing with the faint traces of expensive cologne and blood.
Her phone buzzed in her palm.
A response to her message.
Unknown Number: You’re making a mistake.
Matilda smirked, rolling the glass between her fingers before setting it down. She tapped out a reply.
No. You did.
A beat of silence. Then another message.
Unknown Number: We’re coming.
She chuckled. Of course you are.
Turning, she stepped over the last body and headed for her closet. Time to change. A bloodstained silk blouse and tailored slacks wouldn’t do what came next.
Nico’s voice came throu……
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