She hadn’t meant to kill the old man, had Tits Akimbo, but she hadn’t noticed the inhaler that fell out of his pocket while she was stuffing the gag in his mouth, either. “You damn fuckwit,” she says, and kicks the corpse in annoyance. Not that it matters much; she hadn’t left a trace on the fourteenth floor office overlooking the lake, but normally she gets paid in one form or another, and this one’s gratis.

It’s a good view but the window doesn’t open, so Tits pulls out her little glass cutter and carves her way through both panes of glass, large circle on the inner one, smaller one on the exterior. She leaves them on the corpse’s chest with his cooling hands wrapped around them; it’ll send some kind of message to whoever find him, but good luck figuring it out. Might as well stick ’em somewhere useful.

When the Don’s motorcade comes rolling past the cathedral she’s set up proper. The rifle bucks in her hands and she doesn’t wait to see what happens. The car’s windows are bulletproof and odds are good that someone spotted the flash, but the point wasn’t to hit anything. Tits isn’t one for causes, but she’s no monarchist; let the rich dream of blood and fire while they may.