And somewhere above, in the penthouse with the tarnished mirrors, the bed remained empty. The Lady of the Night was awake. And for the first time, she wasn't performing.
The night wore on. A city councilwoman needed a rival’s mistress identified. A hedge fund manager needed a compromising photograph to vanish from the dark web. A lonely old woman, the widow of a mobster, just wanted someone to sit with her and remember the good old days when a threat meant something.
