Blood on Silk

Dante

The De Leone house was quiet, too quiet for a home that had, hours before, resounded with music, laughter, and champagne. The smell of blood lingered underneath the expensive cologne and spilled wine. Every noise, the echoing of feet down the hallway, the creaking of aging wood, was louder, more acute, more oppressive.

I confronted one of my men. "Bring me all files we've got. I want his fil