Fawn's POV
The taxi slowed to a stop in front of Marconi's, its neon sign casting a blue glow across the rain-slicked sidewalk. The rain had stopped on the way over thank god. I ran a hand over my black dress, mentally rechecking everything. My phone silenced but accessible and ready to record should anything get interesting. Cash for the cab tucked in my clutch. Makeup perfect. Expression carefully planted on my face.
I paid the driver and stepped out onto the pavement, my heels not slipping against the wet concrete, which I was glad having a photographer lens trained on me. That would have been an interesting shot for the media.
The night air felt electric against my skin, or maybe that was just the adrenaline of walking willingly toward my murderer.
Through the restaurant's windows,
