The gun appeared in her hand like magic, silver and deadly in the candlelight.
"Very clever, cara mia," the woman who was not my mother said, her sweet smile turning cold as winter. "Your real mother did raise a smart daughter."
Time slowed to a crawl. Lucky's gun was already rising, but she was faster. The impostor's weapon swung toward him with practiced precision.
"Drop it, Luciano," she commanded, her voice no longer carrying my mother's gentle warmth. "Or the girl dies first."
Lucky hesitated, his dark eyes calculating angles and distances. I could see him weighing options, looking for an opening.
"Do not," I said quietly. "She is a professional. Look at her stance, her grip. This is not her first time."
He cursed under his breath but slowly placed his gun on the floor and kicke
