I restore other people's paintings. I invoice a shell company. I have never met the men I work for.
Then they sent someone to check on me.
Lukas Morozov. Forty-six. Gray at the temples. He had three years of my invoices memorized and a photograph of me on a beach I didn't know anyone had taken.
He stayed three days to audit me. Then he paid my rent, unlocked my balcony door, and hung a painting I mentioned once, eight months ago, opposite my bed.
I called the emergency number and hung up.
When the gallery owner sold me out to cover his debt, Lukas killed him in the gallery after hours and left me the deed.
I ran to Madrid. He was already on my balcony with my forwarded mail.
Her Quiet Executioner is a stalker age gap mafia romance in the Lisbon underworld — obsessive, slow, and negotiated on her terms, all the way to the signature.
