Page 15

“It’s OK dear, nobody really sees me.”

I stare at him a moment, taking him in. He’s dishevelled, bags under his dark eyes, but he’s alert and shrewd. He’s not the doughy build you expect of a man of his age, instead he’s slight, almost unhealthily thin. And that will not do.

“Well, I see you, so why don’t you come on in and I’ll get you something to eat and drink.”

He doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to follow me in and taking a seat where Gabriel usually sits when he’s with Kristie. I huff out a quiet laugh at how he doesn't even fill half the space Gabriel does when he sits there.

“I’m Brenna, by the way,” I call out over the noise of the coffee grinder.

“Oh, I know.” Percy replies. Which is odd. I was hoping he would tell me his name, I can’t call him Percy forever.

My brows pinch slightly at his comment until I remember that I have my name tag on. Duh, Brenna.

Just be careful.

I roll my eyes to myself. I know how to take care of myself. I’m not some lame-o. I learned the hard way all through school that nice people often come last, or get taken advantage of. But being kind doesn’t mean I’m a pushover. I know when to stop and pull back. And Percy at the moment is harmless and not a threat to me.

I select two fluffy pastries from the cabinet, plate them up and then along with the warming cinnamon topped fluffy hug in a mug I’ve made for Percy, I deliver them to his table, taking a seat across from him.

“So, what are your plans for the day?”

Chapter 7

Gabriel

“Is there anything else you need before I begin?”

I shiver a little at Vito’s question. Not because the man himself is imposing. To me, he’s not. I’m 6’6 and built like a brick shithouse. Vito isn’t much shorter than me but he’s lithe, all angles and slicked back hair with the voice of an undertaker. Measured, quiet, thoughtful. On a normal day, if I met him on the street, he wouldn’t wig me out. But I know better. The Sanificatore family have been serving the Mancini Mafia for as long as they’ve been in the US. Their lives are dedicated to the mafia and that means whatever mess La Madrina makes, they clean it up. In the old ways. Like the meat grinder Vito’s brother has just carried in.

Stretching my fingers out, I wriggle them a little and let out a long breath. Closing my eyes I start from my toes, scrunching and relaxing them in my boots, paying attention to all the small bones and joints in my feet before working my way up. There’s an ache in my knee and I’m very aware of my right forefinger knuckle.

Opening my eyes I meet Vito’s inquisitive gaze. “Not quite. Give me five?”

Vito doesn't nod, doesn't even blink. Just lets out a low whistle before turning on his heel and leaving the room, his siblings following him.

“Do you think they’ll ever get less creepy?” Kristie asks from where she’s leaning back in an office chair, her legs crossed at the ankles, boots resting on the chest of the man she’s just killed.

Dima is doing the weird cataract thing he does when he’s listening to the whispers. That used to be Kristie’s curse. Now her man carries that for her, and I’m happy about that. My sister deserves peace and love.

“So do you,” Dima murmurs, his icy blue gaze on mine.

“Thanks man.” I nod.

“Awww, you two should kiss. It would be hot.” My sister wags her brows and I flip her the bird, noticing that particular finger joint is a little swollen.

Kristie notices my wince and sits up, dark eyes on mine. “Find him and send him on, Gabe. Don’t like seeing you hurting.”

I lift my chin at her in thanks. Kristie may be an asshole at times, but she hates seeing me in pain. And that’s what happens when a soul is in pain. Not all of them are. Souls like Grammy’s and Miss Fanny’s, they had a purpose. A goal they didn’t complete in their lifetimes that has them stuck with us. They are restless, but they’re not hurting. Then others are upset. In turmoil. Desperate to move on but unable to. I feel their pain acutely. If I don’t free them it gets worse for me. Then there is the third group. The ones with evil in their souls. They held greed in their hearts when they were alive, and they don’t stop in death. They want to live forever. These are the men I’m here to send to hell.

Cracking my neck I look around the room. It’s a shabby office in one of the shittier sides of town. I have no idea how Kristie and Dima always manage to track down the most depraved people, but they do. Case in point: the corpse on the desk.

Matthew Baker, 56, owner of a computer repair company, and buyer of underaged girls. His fat, fleshy body may be expired, but his soul is fighting to remain. Dima stiffens, then moves to a bookshelf, staring at the books like they hold the meaning of life. Maybe they do. He runs his fingers over the spines at the same time my fingers wriggle at my sides. I don’t know why I do this, but it helps me think. Helps me lock into the soul, no matter where they are.

“Where do you think he is?” Grammy whispers, causing me to jump. I had completely forgotten she was with me.

“Unsure, but I think Dima is about to find out,” I say under my breath.

Dima tips a book toward him and the click sound fills the air, along with a whimper. My sister and I share a look as we step into line with Dima, who shoves the bookcase, the whole thing swinging into a hidden room. With a young girl bound, gagged and naked inside. Along with the soul of Matthew Baker.