LEROI
I lean against the living room wall, watching Farfalla teach Seraphine how to contour her eyes. She looks so at ease with Farfalla that it’s hard to believe the trauma she’s suffered.
It’s hard to tear my gaze away from her when she’s so vibrant and happy. She’s so mesmerized by the process that her posture relaxes as she applies pigment with a makeup brush. When Farfalla places a hand on Seraphine’s shoulder, I stiffen, expecting the worst. But she glances up at Farfalla and smiles. It’s the same radiant expression she gave the redhead at Wonderland. Maybe that’s because she doesn’t see either of them as a threat.
Yet another glimpse of the mystery that is Seraphine.
I could spend all morning staring at this girl applying makeup, but the Capello job has more loose ends than a rag rug. If Seraphine is ever going to have a normal life, I need to fasten them tighter than a garotte.
Our first lead is Pietro Fiori, the driver assigned to the Capello twins who also took Seraphine to and from her murderous missions. According to Miko’s research, he lives alone in a house close to Capello’s estate. I expect he’s probably enjoying a few days of paid leave, thanks to the death of his employers.
I glance down at my phone and fire up one of the many surveillance cameras Miko and I set up to observe Capello’s movements. Construction workers have already cleared the rubble from our explosions and are rebuilding the damaged wing. Some of their vehicles are parked a street away from our target, so we will have to be careful when extracting Fiori. Too many witnesses.
A text from Miko appears on the screen.
Tracked the deposit from an offshore account linked to the Di Marco Law Group.
My eyes narrow, and I wait for Miko to elaborate.
The next text contains a hyperlink that leads to a page on the New Alderney Times with the headline: OPENING DAY OF HOTEL MARISOL
A photo appears of Frederic and Marisol Capello holding a ribbon beside a gray-haired man in his late sixties in the foyer of a luxury hotel. The caption reads: Frederic Capello and Di Marco Law Group Chairman, Joseph Di Marco, at the opening day of Hotel Marisol.
Another link appears, which leads to a page that announces the engagement of Joseph Di Marco’s daughter to Samson Capello. My brows rise. I wonder how Samson explained his rotted penis to his fiancée.
I send a message back to Miko.
Great work. Are you sure the funds came from Joseph Di Marco directly? How about someone else in the firm?
He replies immediately, likely expecting my question:
Working on it.
Miko and I work our way through everyone in the Di Marco Law Group who might be powerful enough to have access to the funds to pay for a hit, but find no one else but its chairman. Joseph Di Marco is the only lawyer in the firm with strong ties to the Capello family. He has no partners and even his senior employees don’t appear to be connected to any major families in the underworld.
This leaves me with two options: kill the old man or present him with the dead body of someone convincing enough and with enough connections to have pulled off the massacre.
“What do you think?” Farfalla’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I glance up from the phone to lock gazes with Seraphine and have to take a second look.
Her hair is now a tantalizing brown with tawny highlights that betray no trace of her previous blonde. It’s a stark contrast to her delicate porcelain features, which now appear sharper, seductive, sophisticated.
My breath hitches. Without meaning to, I close the distance between us for a closer look.
Her new eye color isn’t just brown. It’s a warm copper with flecks of gold that glimmer in the light. It’s like gazing into the depths of a fire and wanting to be consumed by the flames.
Damn it. This girl is turning me into a fucking poet. I need to stop looking at her, but I’m enthralled.
“Don’t tell me I can’t work miracles,” Farfalla says, his voice dousing the flames of my fascination.
I blink away the vision of her to regain focus. “You look older.”
Seraphine tilts her head, wanting me to elaborate.
Farfalla gasps. “You can’t say that to a lady!”
“It’s not…” I clear my throat. “It’s a compliment.”
The corners of Seraphine’s lips lift into the tiniest of smiles, twisting the frayed fibers of my heart. I shake my head and cast off the strange ache.
What does it matter if Seraphine only shows her happiness to Farfalla and the girl at Wonderland? She doesn’t need to get entangled with another killer. I’m a reminder of the life she needs to leave. As soon as she finds her brother and avenges her mother’s assault, I’ll set her free to start the life she deserves.
The drive across Beaumont to Queen’s Gardens is silent. Half the properties in the exclusive gated community are mansions hidden behind acres of land and tall trees. The smaller buildings assigned to staff and security are well within the gates, but far enough away to be hidden from the main house.
A man as paranoid as Frederic Cappello makes his non-essential employees live beyond his gates, and that’s where we’ll find Pietro Fiori.
I glance at Seraphine through the rearview mirror, trying to decipher what she’s thinking. She’s eerily calm for someone who is approaching the location of her captivity. It’s disturbing. Even if they only transported her in and out of the mansion at night, she should be feeling something.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” she replies, her voice emotionless and flat.
She isn’t, but I don’t know her well enough to decipher her blank state or lack of body language. I won’t push, either. At least not now, while I’m half distracted by driving.
Seraphine’s unpredictability is only charming when she’s half-naked over my lap and getting a well-deserved spanking.
“We lived in a house like this,” she says.
“You and your brother?”
She nods. “And Mom. She always told us Dad was away on business, but he had a second family. Do you think she knew?”
“Do you want the truth?”
“You’re going to say she must have known.”
“Frederic Capello was one of New Alderney’s most prominent businessmen. It would be impossible for her not to have known he was married.”
“Right,” she rasps.
We fall silent for several minutes, passing tall hedges, walls of conifers, and the ornate iron gates until we reach the outskirts of the Cappello estate. If there was something I could say to ease her mind, I would say it, but nothing could ever compensate for the torment she suffered after Capello’s betrayal.
As a small fleet of construction vans pass, it occurs to me to ask, “Was your mother’s house also in Queen’s Gardens?”
When she doesn’t reply, I glance at her through the rearview mirror again. Her eyes are closed, showcasing thick, black lashes and smokey lids, and her red lips pursed.
Is she meditating?
After exhaling a long breath through her nostrils, she says, “Yes.”
“Fuck,” I growl.
“I should have known Dad had a second family,” she mutters.
“How?” I ask. “If you lived behind one of these gates, I expect your life was sheltered.”
Her shoulders rise toward her ears. “Mom and Dad didn’t allow me to use the internet, and we had limited access at school, but maybe I could have—”
“Don’t blame yourself,” I say. “You were a child.”
She glances out of the window and blows out a long breath. “Right.”
We reach the Capello estate’s front gates, which are wide open to let in construction vehicles. At the far end of the drive, is a glimpse of the building work.
If Di Marco is hiring assassins to take out his buddy’s killer, is he also the one responsible for ordering the repairs? It’s possible that he’s readying the family home for its new owner–the Cappello daughter Roman wanted me to kill.
Around the corner is a street of smaller houses, where we’ll find the man who drove Seraphine to and from her missions. Since he knew about her, it’s possible that he also knows about Gabriel.
“I’ve already looked up Fiori’s vehicle,” I tell her. “We’re going to place a tracker on it and watch his movements. If he leaves Queen’s Gardens, we’ll know.”
“Why don’t we break into his house and torture him for information?” she asks.
“It’s broad daylight, and security in this neighborhood would have doubled since I killed an entire houseful of people. We can’t risk getting spotted.”
She falls silent for several beats. I wait for her to argue that I’m being too cautious, but she asks, “Okay, what’s the plan, then?”
“We wait for him to leave this district and follow him to a less guarded area,” I say. “Once he’s alone, we’ll pull him over and get the information we need.”
“Or we can snatch him off the street.” She raises a hand and points to a figure carrying a hose toward a car.
Before I can tell her to stick with my plan, the door is open, and she’s jumping out into the street.
Fuck.
