VIOLA
Two Months Later:
The man I need to kill is at the blackjack table betting everything he has. It’s not one of my father’s business partners. It’s another mark.
I’ve no idea who he is, except that he hasn’t paid back what he owes Adrien. An insult when he clearly has the money. My father would send an idiot like this a warning first. But this guy lost that chance when he ran. Running does nobody any good. I could have told him that. Still, it’s the perfect opportunity to get close to my real target.
I still don’t know if this is a trap or not. But my father will kill Rebecca if I don’t at least pretend to comply.And Dante is right; this is the perfect time to gain leverage. But if I trust Dante again, will he fuck me over like last time? What if this is just another test from my father to see if I’ll take the bait?
I glance at the folders on the bed. “What’s in it for you?” I say to Dante. “You know I don’t have the money to pay you.”
After selling the jewelry Saskia gave me as payment for killing Joseph, I used most of it to pay bills. Working only for the boys, for free I might add, for the last few months has meant my funds are at an all-time low.
The last time I checked I was practically broke.
“Half your inheritance”, he says without hesitation.
I narrow my eyes. “You want half of Harper-Black? Why?”
I know the answer as soon as I ask the question. I never wanted my father’s estate or name, but Dante is not like me. He’s not blood. He can come and go as he pleases. Adrien may have taken him in, but my father doesn’t give a shit about owning him. He’s a useful tool to him, nothing more.
I never thought about it before, but Dante gets nothing if my father dies. Nothing. And without a family of his own, it would be like he never existed.
Power—this is what it all boils down to. Dante may be a natural born killer, but he also has ambition. What can you give someone who has more money than sense?
Only your name.
Dante never answered my question, and I don’t think I really wanted to hear his answer. Dante has always been a demon to me with one thing on his mind—spilling blood. Money, yes. But power? Prestige? That’s not the Dante I know. And if it’s true, I’ve never really understood him.
In fact, I don’t know him at all.
I take a sip of my wine and study my pretend target. Dante is here somewhere too, and he’ll be getting impatient with me if I don’t act soon. I wish now that we’d worn earpieces. Dante hates them. He always says I should know instinctively what he’s going to do by now, so he shouldn’t have to tell me. Usually, I agree. But this time, the desire to interrogate him, to peel away the layers and get to know the guy I grew up with…burns beneath my skin like poison.
Because I don’t know you, Dante.
And possibly never will.
As soon as my mark loses cards for a fifth time, he downs his drink, gets unsteadily to his feet, and walks in the direction of the bar. I chase away my own shitty feeling by drinking some wine. Then I discreetly leave the table, where I’m neither winning or losing, and follow him.
Thankfully, the bar is less crowded than the main floor, almost deserted. Who wants to drink when you can gamble? Just the losers drowning their sorrows. I approach the man I’ve been following for the better half of the night and slip into the semi-private booth next to him.
He looks pleased to see me. Of course, he does. I’m wearing a long black dress with a slit up one side, though not the side that has a H seared into my skin. My hair—a wig—is mouse brown, loose and pin straight, tucked behind one ear. I have on the lightest touches of makeup. Pink blush-colored lip gloss. A simple, silver chain around my neck. I look young, too young for this place.
I offer my target a shy smile as I order a drink with a passing waiter. He pays with money he doesn’t have. I touch his arm. He leans in, complimenting me.
In five minutes flat, he’s all mine.
Just like the rest of them.
His hands glide up my thigh and I resist the urge to choke him with my silver chain. The sensation of him touching me turns my stomach. This would be a great time to suggest we go somewhere a little quieter, and then skin him alive. Or just drown him in his own vomit.
But I’m not really here for that.
I plaster a smile on my face and neck my wine. Great thing about Dante not being in my fucking ear is that he can’t tell me to slow down. Why would I slow down? Adrien could send anyone. Dante. Gigi. Any one of his men. But he continues to send me on high risk, low value jobs. Adrien couldn’t care less about that so long as I kill the man who stole from him.
And Kato, his business partner.
The darkness inside buzzes like a wounded wasp, eating away what's left of my psyche as I look around. I see no sign of Kato or his men, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t watching. Although the wig and blue contacts might dissuade them from watching too closely, I am in Triad territory. Kato owns this part of the city and everyone in it. Even if I’m here on Kato’s good graces, since my mother’s father was a Triad and I’m the daughter of his business partner, it’s usual for me to present myself first. It’s only polite.