**Emilio's Penthouse — 2:17 AM**
The door clicked softly behind her. No one saw her enter.
No guards. No cameras. No music.
Just low lights, faint jazz, and the man who killed her family sitting in an armchair with a crystal glass.
He didn't look up.
“You came back," Emilio said.
Emerie stepped inside. “I always finish what I start."
He took a sip of whiskey, gaze unfocused. “Is this where you kill me?"
“No," she said. “You already asked that question last time. You know the answer."
“People get poetic when they die," he murmured.
“Then be useful. Say their names."
Emilio swallowed.
“Say. Their. Names."
“I don't remember them," he whispered.
She stared at him for a full beat. “Thank you."
His eyes flicked up, confused. “For what?"
“For confirming the verdict."
**She moved
