When in Rome

Nora swung an elegantly clad foot at the end of a stockinged leg, her chin resting gently atop her fist. She watched person after person pass by on the street as her cafe latte cooled on the table in front of her.

Finally, the right one walked by. Nora swept her leg to the floor and stood, dropping a pair of bills on the table for the waiter.

She picked up the pace in order to keep up with her prey. Closer and closer. He turned, and she was waiting, the gun in her hand.

She left him there, in the alley, without a second thought.