Lombardi's safe house was silent, a
sprawling villa tucked away in the Tuscan hills whose lavish trappings belied its fortified nature.
Feliz Lombardi nursed a tumbler of smoky bourbon, pacing the study's polished marble floors with a thoughtful frown.
A slight creak at the entrance was the only warning before the double doors detonated inwards in an explosion of splinters. Mara stood framed in the billowing cloud of debris, Beretta leveled with cold precision as she advanced into the room.
Lombardi spun towards the sound, bourbon sloshing over the side of his glass. "Mara? What in God's name--"
Her eyes were blades. "You got sloppy today, old man. Should be D-E-A-D right now, your ugly mug plastered all over the morning rags."
