Getting rid of Giulietta wasn't something I celebrated.
It wasn't even something I enjoyed.
It was just… necessary.
She'd crossed a line too many times. She was spreading lies, taunting Mira through mutual contacts, whispering in men's ears that I was losing control. She thought her position as the only daughter of my grandparents made her untouchable.
She was wrong.
Tomas had warned me to keep my hands clean for now. "You've spilled enough blood, boss," he said. "Let this one fade quietly."
So I took his advice.
Giulietta's end came in an untraceable manner.
I got a dinner invitation. It came with a warm smile from an old acquaintance who owed me a favor.
There was a glass of wine in her hand and inside that glass of vintage red, the slow kind of poison that doesn't kill you instantly.
It gives you time to think. To panic. To pray.
Three days later, Tomas came in with that look on his face the one that said it's done.
"She's gone," he said simply.
