The Mafia King’s Fake Widow
The gates of the Voss Mansion groaned as they swung open, a low, metallic roar that sounded like a beast conceding its territory. A sleek, silver Rolls-Royce Phantom—provided by Kael’s offshore holdings—purred up the long, winding driveway. The gravel crunched under the tires with a rhythmic finality.
Inside the car, Evie smoothed the fabric of her dress. She was no longer wearing the limp, dusty black of a mourning victim.
Today, she wore a tailored, midnight-blue silk suit that hugged her curves like armor. Her hair was pulled back into a sharp, low bun, and her eyes were hidden behind oversized designer sunglasses.
Bab Populer