She had said she owned a dress.
That was technically true.
It was a simple black dress she had bought two years ago for a colleague's wedding. It was perfectly acceptable for a wedding. It was not acceptable for a private dinner hosted by one of the most powerful criminal operatives in northern Italy where the guests were politicians and businessmen who had spent their careers reading people.
Sera had communicated this without saying a single word about it.
Which was somehow worse.
Three days after the meeting in Dante's penthouse a car arrived outside Romano's shop at exactly six o clock. Aria knew it was Dante's because it was the kind of car that announced itself the same way he did — quietly, completely, leaving no doubt about what it was.
She had been expecting it.
She had not
