Everyone around the table was silent the moment they sensed her disapproval. She sat there silently, turning the scotch in her glass. There was not a whisper to be heard. Ezra looked up at the table, her eyes cold. “One of our ally’s men was murdered in cold blood on our grounds.” She spoke, her voice deep and sultry, threatening. “Which of you fucked up?” She asked, looking at each person sitting at the table, except for her wife/husband, who sat beside her. Her hand rested on their thigh.