Vincent Calderone was exactly where she expected him—sitting at the bar, a drink in hand, waiting.
Two of his men flanked him, but their hands weren’t on their guns. Not yet.
He turned slowly, looking her over.
"Matilda." He smiled. "I was wondering when you’d come knocking."
Matilda tilted her head. "I’d say I’m surprised you lasted this long, but we both know you’re too stubborn to die quietly."
Calderone chuckled. "And you’re too bold for your own good." He nodded toward the bodies in the hallway. "That’s a hell of an entrance."
"I like to make an impression." Matilda stepped closer, eyes sharp. "Where are my men?"
Calderone took a slow sip of whiskey. "Safe."
"Define safe."
He exhaled, setting his glass down. "They’re alive, Matilda. But this isn’t just about them, is it?"
Ma
