I pick up the newspaper I tossed on the bed earlier and reread the ad for the prison guard before dropping it on the desk. Staring at myself in the cracked mirror above it, I run a hand through my hair. I’ve had enough women tell me I’m good-looking that I know it must be true; with dark brown hair and hazel eyes that change color depending on the color shirt I wear, I long ago perfected the art of letting my looks lure people into a sense of security.
I pull out my phone and look up information on the prison, noticing the person in charge of hiring is a woman. Perfect.
As long as she doesn’t look too closely into my eyes, I should be fine. I can be charming; some might say devastatingly so. But hiding the evil that lurks within me? Not always so easily done.
Three Weeks Ago
She’s cowering in the corner of her cell, practically climbing the wall to get away from me. Lucretia, or Sophia now, recognized me the minute I let myself into her cell. She had lived across the street from Maria and Penelope for over a year and saw me with them often.
She knows why I’m here.
A single droplet of sweat slides down her face, and her chest heaves as she startles at my words. “Hello, Lucretia.” Her body trembles, and in her eyes, I see the moment she makes the decision to scream. I leap forward, pressing the palm of my hand to her mouth, the weight of my body holding her down. She writhes under me, her eyes wide with terror.
“Shh,” I whisper in her ear. “I just want information. Then I’ll let you go, I promise.”
She goes still, then nods imperceptibly.
“Who ordered the hit on you? I want their names.”
Carefully removing my hand from her mouth, Lucretia swallows, then whispers, “Dante Gianelli.”
No.I grit my teeth, my mind racing. I shouldn’t be surprised; the Gianellis own New York City. Nothing goes down without their permission. “Why?”
“My parents worked for him. They got greedy, siphoned money from him and his brothers. Dante had my parents killed to set an example. My brother and I tried to avenge their deaths, and he sent people after us. I’m sorry about your ex-wife and daughter. I swear I had nothing to do with that. They just got the wrong house.”
“And so you ran?”
She nods. “I knew right away that it was meant for me. I should never have gone after them, I should have just let it go.”
Keeping my weight on her, I reach into my pants pocket, pulling out a syringe. Lucretia wiggles her body beneath mine, opening her mouth to scream. I plunge the needle into the space under her tongue, injecting a lethal dose of insulin before quickly covering her mouth again.
Her frantic eyes stare into mine, full of questions, pleading for answers. I might as well grant her this last wish. “If all you had done was run, I would be leaving you now with your life intact. But you killed children, Lucretia. Burned them alive in the fires you and your brother set. For what reason? Because you were bored? Because you liked the adrenaline rush of running into burning buildings? They were innocent and didn’t deserve what you did to them.”
Her eyes roll back into her head, and I quickly get off her, stepping away as her back rises from the bed. She begins shaking as a seizure begins, and I quietly leave the cell, locking it behind me.
Present
I climb on my motorcycle, zip up my black leather jacket, and pull the helmet down over my head before pointing it east. I’m going home—back to New York, back to where everything began.
And where Dutch is. The thought of seeing her again eases some of the pressure from my chest as I rev the engine, tearing out into the quiet night.
I’m not happy I had to delay my departure from Willow Creek, but I couldn’t very well leave right after Lucretia’s death—it would have been too suspicious. I hung around for another two and a half weeks, before rushing into my superior’s office, tears streaming down my face as I informed her of my sister’s impending demise due to an inoperable brain tumor. I had used my time wisely after Lucretia’s body was found—undiagnosed diabetes, such a shame—flirting with the woman, even taking her out on a date. I don’t enjoy using women in such a manner, but it was imperative to keep myself from any suspicion. She fell for my story, disappointment at my departure evident, but with empathy at my fictional sister’s diagnosis.
As I drive, my mind turns to Dutch, as it so often does. The question is—does she have any allegiance to the Gianellis? When she finds out I’m going to take out her uncle, Dante, will she try to stop me? I will not allow her to stand in my way. If I need to lock her in the bathroom or restrain her until I’m done, so be it.
Once Dante is rotting in the ground, I’ll finally be finished. My ex-wife and daughter will be avenged, and I can hang up the swords for good. But one thing I won’t do is let Dutch go. Not again.
We may have only had a brief moment together, but she seared herself into my soul and no matter how hard I tried to forget her, I couldn’t. I know I’m not good enough for her. How could I be? I have killed more people than I can count. I have lied and stolen and deceived. And Dutch? She deserves the world.
But I’m also selfish. I may have walked away once—I had to, in order to keep my vow to see Maria and Penelope avenged—but I always planned to come back for her. She is mine, has been since I first tasted her. She is my endgame, and once Dante is dead, I’m taking her with me. Fuck the FBI and anyone else who might try to stop me.
Chapter 22
Special Agent Susannah Gerhardt
Sittingbackinmyoffice chair, I run my hands through my dark hair, a deep sigh pulling from within. Opening the top drawer of my desk, I take out the card that arrived yesterday in an unmarked envelope. I flip it between my fingers as I stare out the window, a myriad of thoughts running through my mind.
The small card is simple; plain white, with a bloody kiss mark on it, a phone number written on the back.
