Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
I would have stayed with her tonight, hidden until she went to sleep—my need to watch her threatens to overpower my will to do much else—but tonight, I have a job to do. And it’s not one I’m looking forward to. Shawn had texted me earlier this evening.
She wants to meet.
She, meaning Bianca Rossi. Most clients are willing to work with my associate to set up jobs.
In fact, they find it significantly more appealing to meet with my assistant instead of the murderer.
That’s not true for her. Bianca likes to be more involved, and Shawn is more than happy to avoid interacting with her.
Despite his generally nervous disposition, Shawn’s not afraid of thugs. He grew up in the criminal underbelly of Boston, working tech and surveillance jobs for the Irish. They snatched him up straight out of high school for his particular skill set.
He was clueless about what he was getting himself into until he was in too deep.
When some big players in the family went down, they got suspicious.
He had nothing to do with the arrests, that was just bad business, but they didn’t know that.
He knew too much about their organization for them to let him leave, so he ran.
The kid was clever—he erased his entire digital footprint and built a new one with a new name.
When he arrived in my city five years ago, the cocky little shit sent me an encrypted message, telling me that he was the best guy to help me with my work.
Of course, I considered killing him just for figuring out who I am and what I do, but he was right.
He’s been good for business since then. The kid may not be afraid of murderers, but anyone in their right mind would be afraid of Bianca.
I, myself, am obviously not in my right mind.
Bianca is the head of the Rossi crime family.
Their business is trafficking women; selling them to the highest bidder or forcing them into prostitution.
When I first heard about a woman running a sex trafficking ring, I thought she must have inherited or been forced into the business.
But that’s not the case. In fact, the business has thrived under Bianca’s rule.
The girls were hard to control before she ordered that they be forcibly drugged with narcotics, regularly.
It also made them less credible witnesses, should they ever escape.
Bianca isn’t some pawn in this—she’s the queen bee.
She enjoys her work and the profits that come from it.
I’d bet if you were to look up soulless bitch in the dictionary, you’d find her picture.
Her business is disgusting, but I learned a long time ago that you can’t stop the monsters in this world. After that lesson, I became one, instead. Not the same kind as Bianca, but I’m still a monster, nonetheless. I wonder if my little bird will be able to see the difference.
There is no difference, the little voice in the back of my mind whispers.
Balling my fists and clenching my jaw, I force the voice away.
It’s wrong. I would never force a woman to endure the horrors of Bianca’s world.
I would never force Ava to do anything that she doesn’t want, even if those desires are buried deep inside of her beneath a layer of the things society has taught her she should want.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I grumble as I round the corner to State Street.
The address Shawn sent me for the meeting is a high-end Italian restaurant, La Stella Della Sera.
The hostess looks me up and down as I enter, seemingly unsure of what to make of me.
Just as I open my mouth to tell her who I’m meeting, a smokey, feminine voice sounds from behind me. “This one is mine, Cara.”
The meek hostess’ eyes widen as she nods frantically. Bianca slips a thin arm under mine, like a snake wrapping itself around its prey. It takes every bit of my willpower to not pull away from her grasp as she leads us through the busy restaurant.
Her eyes sparkle as she saunters around tables, meeting the gaze of every male diner who turns away from his date to gawk at her.
We stop in front of a table in the back; an intimate, small table lit by candlelight, nestled between two place settings.
My eyes roll as she sweeps a hand in the direction of the chairs, indicating for me to sit.
I indulge her, taking the chair against the wall.
She chuckles knowingly, sitting opposite of me.
She crosses her ankles, her expensive heels clicking together under the table.
Her hands press down her thighs, smoothing the wrinkles on her red, designer dress.
Its plunging neckline highlights her long neck and substantial cleavage.
Her olive skin gleams in the low light, the flicker of the candles shimmering against her long, brown hair.
Sitting across from her, she’s undeniably alluring.
A sly smile pulls her plump lips upward, accentuating her high cheekbones.
Her thin eyebrows rise questioningly while her deep, brown eyes stare intently into mine.
Her hand reaches across the table as one long, cherry-red fingernail traces gently across my knuckles. “We can skip dinner and go back to my place for dessert,” she offers in a hushed, sultry tone.
“I’m not here for that,” I retort quickly, pulling my hand away, as if her touch burned.
“Hmmm.” She runs her finger along her lower lip suggestively. “Someone special you’re saving yourself for at home?”
I harden my features, keeping my face devoid of the emotion that churns in my gut.
The thought of the boogeyman, or woman, as the case may be, knowing about my little bird sends fire burning through my veins.
I envision her chained, forced to serve the disgusting excuse for men at Bianca’s clubs.
I will carve up the flesh of anyone who touches her.
I’ll make them beg for death. I ball my fists under the table, my fingernails carving into my palms. The pain calms me, pulling me back from the brink.
“What I do in my home is none of your concern.”
Her wicked smile widens. “For now.”
I’m not interested in playing games with Bianca. As I begin to stand to leave, she huffs out an exacerbated breath before shoving a manilla envelope across the table.
Her once sultry tone turns cold and monotonous as she describes the job. A former employee of hers fell for one of her girls. He grabbed her and they escaped. She wants him dead and the girl returned.
As she speaks, my mind wanders back to my little bird.
I can imagine myself taking her to a restaurant like this, sharing a romantic meal.
Her eyes would sparkle like emeralds in the candlelight.
Under the table, I’d run my hands over her thighs and press my palm into her sweet pussy, until she begged me to take her.
But realistically, I don't think the waitstaff would take too kindly to me carrying my date over my shoulder and tying her to a chair. I doubt that killing an entire restaurant of witnesses would endear me to her, either. I’m willing to admit that maybe we’re not quite ready for public dates. Yet.
The snake’s voice pulls me back to reality. “You’ll find all the information you need in this envelope. Kill him and bring the girl back to me.”
“You know how this works,” I reply. “I’ll end him, but I’m not taking girls for you.”
She chuckles. “What a virtuous murderer you are. Fine, get it done.”
As I stand to leave, she adds, “We could skip all of this next time, if you’d simply join my organization.”
I roll my eyes at her as I walk back toward the door. She’s been attempting to pull me into her business for years. If for nothing else, to ensure that I no longer accept jobs from her only rival.
There are two families that run this city—the Volkov and the Rossi families.
Mikhail Volkov, the head of the Volkov family’s empire of narcotics and weapons, has been a thorn in Bianca’s side for a long time.
Driven by ambition, she’d rather see herself running all illicit trade in the area.
At best, the relationship between them is an uneasy alliance.
At worst, it's a slow boiling pot, ready to bubble over with any slight from one side or the other.
I do jobs for both of the families, but I don’t accept jobs that go between them. I’m not dumb enough to pick a side that would pit me against either of two of the most ruthless crime families in the country.
Just as I reach the door, Bianca’s voice calls behind me, “Oh, and Gray? I’ll be seeing you soon.” I exit the building, followed by an echo of devilish laughter.
* * *
My car idles in the parking lot of a seedy motel until just after midnight.
The name of the motel, along with its address and photos of my target, were all included in the envelope Bianca gave me.
The lights in room 17 went out nearly two hours ago, leaving me confident that its occupants are asleep.
I pull a mask over my face, one of those Halloween Ghostface masks.
It’s the only thing I could find on short notice in a drugstore.
I don’t normally worry about hiding who I am, but I know that there are two occupants inside that motel room and I only plan on killing one of them.
The locks are simple in cheap motels; it barely takes a minute to get the door open.
The room is quiet. The alarm clock on the nightstand bathes the room in a faint, red glow.
On the bed, a small-framed woman lays sleeping.
She looks rough. Her emaciated body sports large purple and green bruises that peek out over the neck of her t-shirt and along her thin arms. The track marks on the inside of her elbows are inflamed and badly bruised, like she’d tried to fight the injections.
Her frail fingers are wrapped around those of a man—the man in the photos from Bianca’s file.
He’s sound asleep, snoring quietly next to her.
Poor fucker did this all for a girl—his girl.
Maybe that’s why I’m making this quick. Or maybe it’s because I’d hate to give Bianca the satisfaction of making him suffer before he died.
Keeping my eyes on my target, I pull my gun out of my pants and screw on the silencer.
It’s easy to shoot an unmoving target, but I want to be close enough that I don’t risk hitting the girl.
With careful steps, I inch closer to the bed until my knees almost touch it.
My gun is aimed directly between his eyes as I squeeze the trigger.
This isn’t like the movies—silencers don’t make a gun quiet, just quiet enough to reduce the risk of hearing damage.
And shooting a man at this range doesn’t leave a small bullet hole, either.
I watch as the impact craters his face, sending chunks of his skull and brain crashing against the headboard, splattering onto the face of his sleeping girlfriend.
The girl’s eyes fly open, her hands pawing at the blood and brain matter splayed across her face and hair. She sucks in air with rapid, wheezing breaths while her chest heaves. Her eyes catch mine. I wait for her to scream, but she’s silent, frozen in the bed next to a corpse.
“Run,” I growl.
She remains unmoving, glancing at her now dead savior before staring back into my eyes.
I wave my gun toward the door in an attempt to snap her out of her trance.
Her hazy eyes follow its direction. When she looks back at me, her eyes widen with realization.
She dives out of the bed so quickly that she falls to her hands and knees, the collision vibrating the floor beneath the threadbare carpet.
She begins to sob as she jumps to her feet and runs out the door.
I snap a quick photo of the dead man and make my exit.
There’s no time to hang around since neighbors will undoubtedly have heard something.
No one is going to sound the alarm for a body at a sleazy motel anyway.
I send the photo to Bianca as I drive away from the motel. Within minutes, my phone is ringing.
I tap my knuckle on the car’s touchscreen, accepting the call.
My car is flooded with a deafening scream from a man.
It surges through the speaker, hoarse and cracking.
The man cries over and over in short bursts.
I imagine the poor fucker attached to the sound, bloodied and tied up in Bianca’s basement.
The line goes quiet for a moment until I hear Bianca cooing in a voice as sweet as honey, “Now you’d better keep quiet, or I’ll come back and cut something else off. ”
When the line is silent, I speak, “Job’s done.”
She chuckles lightly. “Of course it is with you on the job. It’s a pity you didn’t bring my girl back, but maybe next time.”
I suck in a breath and press my lips together in a hard line.
“Your payment’s been wired. Maybe next time we can tag-team it.” She giggles. “How fun that would be! See you soon, Grayson.”
I hang up, irritated. Crazy bitch.