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While seeking revenge, dig two graves—one for yourself.
Perhaps she was glass. But glass is only brittle until it breaks. Then it’s sharp.
“Maybe we are broken. But we put ourselves back together. We survived. That’s what makes us so powerful. And as for family—well, blood is always family, but family doesn’t always have to be blood.”
“I’m not a fucking coat, Marcus. You don’t get to check me at the door.”
They never seem to realize. We’re the power behind the throne.
The first shot throws the target off guard. The second is the kill.”
They say people grow on you, and maybe that was true, because every time Marcella saw Tony, she felt the need to scrub him off her skin.
How many men would she have to turn to dust before one took her seriously?
“People can see an awful lot, and believe none of it.”
After all, people died, and when they did, their shape vanished from her closet. (Sometimes she didn’t even know they were gone until she went looking.)
She was done playing by other people’s rules. Done hiding. If you lived in the dark, you died in the dark. But stand in the light, and it was that much harder to make you disappear.
Small talk was an art form, one of those things that made people’s eyes gloss over. Go silent, and they might start wondering why. But keep them talking about nothing at all, and they wouldn’t even blink.
