Vera

Vera did not scream.

That was the first thing Antonio Bellanti noticed as he stood in the doorway of her private office, the moonlight carving his silhouette into something almost unreal.

She turned slowly, deliberately, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the desk. Every instinct screamed at her to reach for the panic switch beneath the wood, to shout for the guards stationed only meters away.

She did neither.

Because fear was exactly what he wanted.

And Vera Russo had survived ...