AS SOON AS Mama put it in front of me, I knew it wasn't from Wesley. Or Julio. Thick, cream-colored envelope, felt more like cloth than paper. Nothing on the outside. I flexed it in my fingers. Not a letter-bomb. One sheet inside, matching the envelope.
The words flowed so smoothly onto the paper they could have been squeezed from a tube. Icing on the devil's cake.
"Ask me. I know."
No signature. I didn't need one.
Strega.