It's been a few days since the party at Mr. Carter's house, and Stefano has been relentlessly gathering information on the Kazan gang, a group that was supposedly wiped-out years ago. The night we returned to his apartment, I asked him why Mr. Carter didn't provide the information Stefano needed, given their apparent friendship. Stefano's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he explained that if the Kazan gang was indeed behind the bullet purchase, Mr. Carter's life would have been ended the moment he uttered a word.
I'm in the kitchen, savoring a leisurely breakfast, when my phone trills, interrupting the peaceful morning. Glancing at my phone screen, an unknown number flashes. Curiosity piqued, I swipe to answer. "Hello?"
"Hello, is this Andrea?" The deep, resonant voice on the other
