LEROI
Hours later, I’m standing beside Miko in the firm’s private shooting range, teaching him how to use a firearm, but I can’t stop thinking about my encounter with Seraphine.
She stands on the far side of the range, clad in a protective face shield and a large pair of earmuffs. Despite the distance, her sweet scent still lingers in my nostrils, and her soft cries still haunt my ears. My balls ache from the release I denied myself as she came apart in my arms.
After she came down from her orgasm, I set her on her feet and wiped her DNA from the crime scene. Though there’s no amount of bleach that could scour my mind of the image of her coming apart for me on that knife.
I disposed of Fiori’s body with a raging hard on. Seraphine stared at the side of my face the entire journey back and neither of us said a word. I thought I could give her what she wanted and remain detached, but there are so many dimensions to Seraphine that she’s not so easy to dismiss.
She’s a killer like me–a kindred spirit with a darkness that rivals mine. Not only that, but she’s beautiful, resourceful, and full of surprises. She could have set me on fire with that fluid, and my body was aroused at the very thought of succumbing to her flames. No woman’s unpredictability has ever aroused me like hers.
If I had known she would be so alluring, I would have refused this unconventional agreement. Being within ten feet of her is an exercise in restraint.
I gaze at her out of the corner of my eye. Her stance is good. Posture straight, eyes focused, yet she still misses the target by over a foot. She’s frustrated, and I can’t blame her.
Capello’s driver was our best chance of finding Gabriel, but he died in the explosions I detonated while escaping the mansion. His closest relative, who he might have confided in about Gabriel’s whereabouts, is a cousin who Seraphine murdered during the poker massacre.
From the tight set of her shoulders, it looks like she’s finally considering the consequences of her actions. Pointing this out right now would be callous.
“What do you think?” Miko’s voice drifts through my ear plugs.
I turn my attention back to his target. It’s littered with holes and he hasn’t missed a shot.
“Nice job,” I reply with a smile. “You’re a natural.”
Miko grins, his freckled cheeks turning pink. “Thanks. Real guns are even better than video games.”
“Except in real life, your opponents don’t always stand still.”
“And I can get hurt,” he says with a nod. “I’m not stupid.”
I give him a clap on the back. “Never said you were, but there’s more to contract killing than shooting.”
Miko glances over at Seraphine, his brows pinching. “I bet you’re not saying that to her.”
From the nervous glances he’s casting Seraphine, he suspects she was a participant in one of Capello’s blackmail videos. My hand tightens around his shoulder, and he pulls off his earmuffs to look me full in the face. At nineteen, Miko is mature enough to know there’s a difference between their situations, yet he’s choosing to regress into the boy I brought home.
“Seraphine is on the other end of the spectrum,” I say, my voice low. “I’m teaching her self-control.”
Miko glances at the other end of the range, where she’s still shooting at her target with a single-mindedness that borders on obsession. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he looks back at me and gripes, “What if she can’t learn it?”
“She will.”
“Is she the reason Don’s clean-up crew—”
“Miko,” I snap.
“What?”
“The less you know about this, the better.”
His gaze darts to her again and then back to me. “Alright.”
I nod. “Can you spare me your talents for a few hours tonight?”
His eyes sparkle, and his features light up in a grin. “What are we doing?”
“It’s time I visited Joseph Di Marco. Since he’s behind the hit on the lone gunman responsible for the Capello murders, maybe he’ll share some information before I put a bullet through his head.”
Infiltrating Di Marco’s mansion is easy, even though he also lives in the gated community of Queen’s Gardens. It helps that attorneys don’t usually require guards that work in shifts. After Miko disabled the security system, I slipped through an open window and made my way to the master bedroom. I almost regret leaving Seraphine behind, but I couldn’t afford a repeat of her earlier impulsiveness.
Joseph Di Marco is gray-haired, in his early seventies, and looks every bit his age in his flannel pajamas. The only things that belie his elderly appearance are the pistol beneath his pillow and the twenty-something blonde slumbering beside him, who is most definitely not his wife.
I pocket the firearm, pull out a syringe, and inject her with 50 mg of ketamine. That should keep her asleep until long after Di Marco’s body has cooled.
By the time I turn my attention back to the old man, he’s already awake and staring at me through wide eyes.
I take a seat on the edge of the bed. “Good evening, Mr. Di Marco.”
He reaches for the landline on his bedside table, pulls the receiver to his ear, taps on the hook switch over and over, before realizing it’s dead and then drops it.
“What do you want?” he croaks and pulls himself up to sit. “If it’s money—”
“Where is Gabriel Capello?”
“Who?” he asks through ragged breaths.
“Five years ago, Frederic discovered his mistress was cheating with her bodyguard. You must have heard about it. He slit the guard’s throat, ordered his men to gang rape the woman, and then abducted the son and daughter.”
His features flicker with recognition before forming a blank mask. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Where did he put the son?”
He shakes his head.
“Capello is dead, as is the rest of his family. Who are you trying to protect?”
Di Marco’s chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, and sweat gathers over his brow. He swallows over and over, his eyes searching the darkness for an answer.
I extract his gun and point it between his eyes. “Tell me what you know or you’ll die slowly.”
He flinches. “I never learned the boy’s name, but I’m sure you’re talking about the donor.”
“What?”
“Fred had a liver transplant around that time.” He swallows again. “When I visited him at the hospital, he was already drinking champagne. I asked if that alcohol was wise so soon after having major surgery, but he bragged about having the perfect donor.”
“Who?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Capello discovered Seraphine wasn’t his biological daughter because he had tested her and her brother because he needed a new liver. Looks like Gabriel was his perfect match.
“He didn’t give me any details, and I didn’t ask. I assumed it was a black market deal.”
“Go on,” I growl.
His shoulders sag, and the rest of his posture slumps. “Fred had another transplant two years ago. I asked if the liver came from his perfect donor, and he said yes.”
“What else did he say?” I ask, my throat tightening.
“That it only took around two months for a liver to fully regenerate after donating.” Di Marco glances away. “And there was an endless supply.”
“Where is the donor?”
“I don’t know.” He bows his head.
“Capello didn’t trust his lawyer and future in-law?”
“Fred wouldn’t hand such powerful information to anyone. Not even his most trusted confidante.”
“Then why did you put a hit out on the gunman who killed him?” I ask.
Di Marco’s head snaps up. “That was you?”
“Answer my question.”
He raises his chin, his eyes hardening. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”
I aim the gun to his shoulder and squeeze the trigger. Di Marco cries out and raises both arms in a full-body flinch.
“Speak,” I say.
“Fuck you,” he growls through clenched teeth.
I fire three shots, each one hitting a limb. He jerks, screams, and shudders. “You don’t want to be stubborn. Tell me why you offered a million to kill the assassin, and I’ll let you live.”
“Bullshit.” He coughs, his eyes glistening. “Either way, I’m dead.”
He’s right. By now, he’s probably deduced that he hired the wrong firm to find the lone gunman. I don’t intend to let him survive for long enough to correct his mistake.
“Then talk, and I’ll put you out of your misery. Why put out that hit when the Capello family is dead?”
Di Marco’s face contorts with a mixture of agony and animosity. His breathing labors, even though I haven’t yet hit anything vital.
“If I’m not talking, it’s because I’m buying time,” he says, his voice strained. “My security company would know the moment you cut the telephone lines. In a moment, the police will arrive with reinforcements.”
I close my eyes and focus on the wail of distant sirens. Joseph Di Marco is playing a dangerous game of chicken, and it looks like the old bastard is winning.
“If you leave now, you might escape before they arrive,” he says through labored breaths.
My jaw clenches.
He’s withholding a vital piece of information, but what?
“Leroi,” Miko hisses through my earpiece. “The police are heading toward us.”
There’s no time to torture him for answers. The stubborn old bastard is ready to die with his secret. If we can find the hospital that performed the liver transplant, then maybe we can find the donor, and with any luck, it will lead us to Gabriel.
He falls back on his pillows and gasps. “You won’t get away with this.”
I shoot him through the head, turn on my heel, and exit the master bedroom.
This breakthrough is exactly what I need to soothe the awkwardness between me and Seraphine.
