The rain came down in sheets, turning the city into a smeared watercolor of light and shadow. Elena’s apartment occupied the entire thirty-second floor, all glass and marble and cold perfection. She had dismissed the housekeeper hours ago, poured herself a third glass of Barolo, and stood at the window watching lightning fork over the river when the intercom buzzed.
She knew who it was before the doorman spoke.
Liana stood in the foyer ten minutes later, soaked to the bone, white cotton dress plastered transparent against every curve. Mascara streaked her cheeks like war paint. Her n*****s were hard points under the wet fabric; the dress ended high enough to prove she wore nothing beneath it. Water pooled at her bare feet.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” Liana said. Her voice shook
