Sonata (Butcher and Violinist 2)

I bet on Sasha, and it was wrong. Kazimir beat him. Now Kazimir’s in Paris. Can’t be a coincidence.

“Hmmm.” I tapped the desk. “Why is Misha searching for his father’s mistress? What does Celina have, or know that could make him chase, and her run?”

“I don’t know. Celina went quiet. She’s using another passport and ID. Shalimar rushed to Europe.” Giorgio poured his own drink. “Louis’s men went to Belladonna to check her old place. There were two female dead bodies inside.”

What the hell was going on? It’s going to be a long day.

“Do you know who the women were?” I sipped my morning whiskey.

“No, but we’ll get you the information.” He turned away. It was always his tell for when he had horrible news.

I took another hard gulp. “What?”

“Louis sent a team by Eden’s apartment like you asked. They have her belongings.”

“Okay.” I shrugged. “And how’s the Vibrato? I wanted the furball over here.”

“Vibrato is dead, as well as her roommate.” Giorgio took a sip of his drink.

My heart beats increased. Whoever had done that wasn’t with Celina. Her and I had an unofficial rule—no civilian attacks. If they weren’t in our world, we diverted them to outside the war zone.

Giorgio went to the folder on my desk and flipped it open. “They cut up the roommate pretty bad. Leo was his name.”

I gazed at it. It had been a long time since I’d felt sick to my stomach. They’d sliced Eden’s roommate like he was a terrorist with the location to secret nuclear weapons.

“This isn’t low level.” I brought the image closer to me. “The cuts are clean. They were torturing him. Some are healed near his arm and then cut again. Jesus.”

What will I tell Eden? And what the fuck is going on?

Giorgio shrugged. “Bratva would’ve gave the clear shot to the forehead. I don’t know how they torture.”

“This isn’t Bratva. They have a level of secrecy, and professionalism with their kills. They also clean up as well as us. This guy wanted everyone to see. He has too much pride in his work.” I dropped the photo on the desk. “However, we can’t count the Bratva out of this completely. You said Misha was hiring low level people. This could be his team.”

“When I told Louis this news, he beefed up security around Eden.”

“Tell him thank you.”

It was clear that these attacks could come Eden’s way. It was only a matter of time.

“So, tell me if I have the timeline right.” I rubbed my hands together and walked around the desk. “Igor dies in Prague. We know who did that. For some odd reason, Kazimir’s ex-girlfriend is found dead.”

“The ballerina?”

“Yes.”

“Oh damn. I loved watching him fuck her.”

I ignored Giorgio. “Igor is killed. Celina flees the country and disappears that night. No one can find her.”

“But she didn’t kill Igor.”

“No, but she did something stupid after he died. A week later, Eden’s roommate and cat are tortured and killed. And then two days after that, someone murders two people in Shalimar’s apartment.”

“Then, Shalimar rushes to Europe.”

“Which tells me Celina is still in Europe. She has old lovers all over and is not above using her contacts.” I rubbed my forehead. “Why did these killers go to Eden’s apartment first? Is this directly related to me or Celina?”

“It’s something else,” Giorgio said. “They tortured him. Eden’s roommate probably has no idea what they wanted to know, so he dies in torture. They go to Shalimar’s place. Maybe these women are roommates or family members, regardless they die too.”

“Shalimar probably shows up to the apartment, sees dead people, and runs.”

“Or, Celina knew something was coming Shalimar’s way and gave her the warning. Our men said that it looked like Shalimar had packed her things before the people died.”

“But do we know?”

“We don’t know anything yet.”

I growled, “I’m tired of these half-assed answers. Get the full ones, or don’t come to me at all.”

“There’s more.”

I held my grumble down, knowing that Giorgio was just the messenger. “What?”

“You asked us to get an ID on the black woman that’s with Kazimir. It’s been rather difficult to get the FBI’s help. I have the images in the file that further show evidence of this.”

“Just say it.” I went to the bar and poured more whiskey. “What’s in the file?”

“Pictures of dead FBI men.”

Of course. Let’s top all these murders with a couple of dead untouchable agents.

I returned with a full glass, flipped the file open, and saw one man shot in the forehead. “Now that’s Bratva.”

The next image showed another. Same shot. Clear wound. Cleaned space. There would be no prints or evidence of who did it or why. “Another Bratva kill. Very old school which is how the Lion likes it. Why am I looking at dead FBI agents?”

“We asked the first agent to run the fingerprints for Kazimir’s alleged lover. This black woman that he’s brought to Paris.”