She looked up at the bold, gold plated numbers on the gate in front of her. Yes, they did match, just as they had the last several times she checked. She couldn’t see much beyond the wrought iron gate except for a small path, the home itself obscured by trees, but she ...
“My god…” she whispered, almost to her coulibiac which had turned cold from being untouched for nearly an hour while she had listened to her client. “Alexi… I don’t know what to say.” Alexi regarded the bottle of vodka from their dinner table. At some point he had gather...