Three months later, Serena walked into the interrogation room like she owned it.
Which, technically, she did.
The man chained to the metal chair looked up when she entered, his face showing confusion and then recognition. He'd expected Dante, or one of his lieutenants. He hadn't expected the woman who'd been in the headlines for killing a corrupt senator.
"Mr. Kozlov," she said pleasantly, settling into the chair across from him. "Thank you for joining us."
"I didn't have much choice," Viktor Kozlov replied, testing his restraints. His accent was thick, his English precise.
"There's always a choice." Serena opened the folder in front of her, revealing photographs of the attack on their penthouse. "You chose to send thirty-seven men to kill my family."
"Business."
"Personal." Her voi
