Her mother's lover
Tonight I wanted to see her.
Leone drove, part of the show now my fixer moving like a shadow at my back, loyal in a professional way that cost him. In the delegation of men I’d swept into my orbit, loyalty was currency; cash, fear, or promises would buy most things. Love, it turned out, could not be purchased. It was sticky, terrible, and always in the way.
“Anja’s waiting at the club,” Leone said, voice quiet as Mercedes ate the cobblestones. He sounded almost… I'm anxious. “She says Maria’s been slipping. Less visible. But she’s here.”
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