“Aight, I’ll take care of that, but what are you going to do about Suef? Because that shit he just did is outrageous. So many innocent people could have died. I mean, what’s next?”

“Nothing is next,” Kisa responded coolly. “He’ll be dead by morning.”

Maria Espinoza no longer felt safe in her home. So when the offer came from a doctor to house-sit while he traveled in Africa for four months, she’d jumped on it. The opportunity couldn’t have come at a better time. Her life was in turmoil, all because of a murder that she had nothing to do with.

After working fifteen hours straight, Maria couldn’t wait to get to the comfortable confines of the doctor’s home. She rushed off the crowded subway, up the stairs, and onto the sidewalk. It was a classic New York winter evening. The air was crisp, icy, and the breeze coming off the water made it feel colder. Maria wrapped her cashmere scarf tightly around the lower half of her face and her neck. She swiftly walked the five blocks to the building, her hands stuffed in her three-quarter-length goose-down parka. When she arrived at the apartment building, she dipped into the restaurant on the first floor to pick up a large serving of piping hot potato soup.

On the elevator ride up, the only thing on Maria’s mind was devouring the soup. She opened the door, stepped inside, closed the door, and locked all four deadbolts. She flicked the light switch and almost jumped out of her skin. She dropped the soup, and it splashed all over her coat, pants, and the floor. She locked eyes with Kisa, who was sitting in a wing-back chair dressed in a black pantsuit and black Louboutin pumps. Instinctively, Maria turned to run out the door, but Mish, also in black, stepped in front of the door.

“Why me, God?” Maria sobbed, with tears tumbling from her eyes.

Kisa didn’t have time for any theatrics. “Have a seat, Maria,” she said calmly.

Cloaked in fear, Maria moved cautiously to the middle of the room and sat on the couch. Kisa just peered at Maria in complete silence for a while. Kisa studied the young, plain, but pretty woman.

Rocking back and forth and noticeably uneasy, Maria asked, “Are you going to kill me?”

“Why do you think that?” Kisa questioned.

“I don’t know what to think anymore. I’ve never done anything to anybody. I go to Mass once a week. I take care of my grandmother, and suddenly my life is in danger.”

“I didn’t come here to hurt you. I came to talk.” Kisa uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “My name is Kisa Montega. I’m the wife of one of the two men you have falsely accused of murder, and I want to know why.”

Staring down at the floor, Maria replied, “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Kisa demanded.