Chapter Seven
I’d been trying to get hold of my guy for days, the one I had tailing Arianna, when I received word that he overdosed in an alley. Overdosed? Something isn’t right.
I put out a call to a guy I have in the morgue. The guy I had tailing Arianna was no junkie. He was good at what he did, discreet, methodical, with no ties to my family.
“Hey, what can you tell me about the OD in the alley?”
“Erm… I can’t really say.” So, he’s being watched.
“Was it an OD?” I whisper, hoping he’s not being listened to as well.
“No, that’s not possible.”
“Can you send me a picture? I wanna check if it’s my guy.”
“Unfortunately, I’m unable to divulge any information at this time. If you leave a name and number, I’ll get back to you.”
He hangs up, and I wait. I pace, my phone clutched to my chest. I’d put a guy on Arianna, watching her, to protect her and keep her safe.
He was tailing her. Said he followed her to a hotel in the middle of the night.
When she came out, he lost her. I spoke to him after he lost her, and I haven’t heard from him since.
If they got to him, did they get to her, too?
My mind reels as I contemplate what this could actually mean.
If someone has her. What will they do to her?
I pace and contemplate where to go from here.
My phone dings as the picture comes through and as the image loads onto the screen.
I clench my fist and punch the desk. Motherfucker.
She killed him. She fucking killed him. I know it was her; he was carved up just like she left Alfredo.
Those creepy slashes forming that twisted grin, along with the crosses gouged into his eyes.
It’s clearly her calling card, but I’m unsure of the reasoning behind it.
It’s not normal, not that killing’s normal, but for me, it’s done out of necessity.
There’s no art or pleasure in it; in this moment, I can see a similarity between her and Bellino.
I shudder at that thought. Could I really have underestimated her so drastically that I didn’t see the psychotic tendencies?
I toss my phone onto the desk and try to breathe.
I try to keep my cool. I don’t know whether to be impressed or pissed.
While I try to gather myself, I snatch my phone off the table and storm out of the office.
Firstly, I need to find out who’s covering this up for her.
This was a far too brazen kill. The way he was carved up can’t be mistaken as an overdose; someone high up must have her back, and loyalty like that doesn’t come quickly or easily.
Also, if she’s capable of this out there on her own, am I fooling myself into thinking she needs my help?