Luciana sat at the small table in the kitchen. She wore a pink kimono-style robe with a delicate flower print. Her hair was pulled back. On a small ceramic plate in front of her were two slices of buttered toast, one slice half eaten. There was also a cup of black coffee. In her hand, she held what looked like a Bloody Mary. She didn’t acknowledge Malibu, who pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. Malibu had the painting she’d finished the night before. She placed it on the floor, leaning the top against the table.
“Starting early,” Malibu said with a nod toward the cocktail. There was a newly discovered edge to her voice.
Luciana arched an eyebrow, acknowledging the subtle but noticeable shift in tone. She took a long and deliberate sip of the Bloody Mary. “It seems someone is
