Brianna Clarice

The Immaculate

Death wrapped her greedy fingers around Don Lombardi’s throat on a steamy summer night. Detective Jenna Johnson strode past the weeping and wailing of what she assumed was her victim’s next of kin. She stopped and took in the crime scene. Lombardi was sprawled in a chair at the head of a large table laden with a bounty of food and shining silver. The walls were lined with what Jenna identified as historic oil paintings. A scrolling iron chandelier lit the room. The space didn’t whisper, but screamed wealth. Don had spent five decades wheeling deals and trading precious commodities to build his fortune.