His: Tony (The Sabatini Family 2)

Hands in my pockets, I make my way down the street to the home of the hit. It takes three minutes for me to get inside. There are fences on both sides of the property but not the front. Head down, I go around the back. As usual, Joseph’s description of the way in is spot on. I pull my Adamas knife from around my forearm and use it to get the door open. In less than thirty seconds, I’m in. Slithering into the quiet, unlit kitchen, I close the back door without a sound. I shut my eyes, count to twenty, then open them—orienting my eyes to the low light.

Making my way down the hallway, I pause outside the closed door of what is easily the bedroom as there is an open door to a bathroom across from it. My hope is she sleeps through it all. I don’t want to kill her, but if she wakes up and finds me, then I have to.

There is a lamp on in the living room. I find a spot and wait.

Less than five minutes later, movement outside the window catches my eye. Pulling my gun, I point it at the floor and wait. At the snick of the key in the lock, I flick off the safety. He opens the door. His hand goes out to the light switch. The lights go on, he sees me. All the air goes out of him. But he doesn’t look surprised.

“Hi, Frank.”

He opens his mouth. I don’t let him talk. I pull the trigger, center mass in the chest. Interesting, he goes face down instead of on his back. Whatever way he lands, it doesn’t matter. I move over him and finish him with a second shot to the back of his head. His body barely jerks from the impact. A glance back down the quiet hallway, nothing. I unthread the silencer and step over his body. Dropping the silencer in my left pocket, I bend down to return my gun to the holster on my ankle. I’m out the door sixty seconds after he entered through it.

As I walk back up the street, there is no movement from the houses along the way. I’m back in the Escalade. Joseph hands me back my watch. It’s been less than ten minutes since I left the car. I strap it back on, then reach for my gun and the silencer and hand both to him. He’ll dispose of them tonight.

“Call Johnny, tell him it?

??s done.”

Joseph nods.

I close my eyes as the ice floats away.

Fifteen minutes later, Vito stops. “Home, Boss. You want some company?”

Shaking my head, I open the door and slide out.

I unlock the wrought iron gate around my home, then make my way up the wide steps of the porch. Inside, I key in the code, the alarm chirps. Closing the door and locking it, I reset the alarm for exterior sensors only.

As always, music is flowing out of the speakers that are in every room in my home. Today, Carmella left it on a classical station as she often does. Even though I know when she’s here alone cleaning and cooking she prefers, of all things, country music. I can control the music from various systems set up in rooms of the house, as well as an app on my phone.

My stomach growls, pushing me to the kitchen even though scotch and the escape of a book in my library are calling me. Walking into the kitchen, I bring up the app and change the music to my Dean Martin station. An exhale leaves me as his rich voice runs over me.

I scan the shelves of the refrigerator for something I can reheat easily. Carmella has added stuffed shells, one of my favorites. Taking out one of the glass dishes she packed it in, I put it in the toaster oven. Setting the time, I grab a bottle of water and sit down to wait at the kitchen table.

It’s still here, the file on Christina Teller. I’ve committed it to memory. I push it away as I consider the problem of Ms. Teller and her desire to kill me.

As her original plan had been rather simple, it would have also been maybe sixty percent effective. If she hated me as much as the file indicates she should, she would have gone for a headshot, And I’d be dead. If she had done what most people would, a shot to the chest since it’s not as hard to miss such a large target, the bullet proof clothing would save me. There’s a reason why my father ordered me to wear the suits, and I in turn, ordered Dominic.

Opening the file again, I flip to the last page where her pictures are clipped. One is from the funeral for Danny when she was, in fact, only ten years old. The other is a few years old, her badge from where she was a nurse at a hospital. In both, she is oddly older than her years. Lines that had formed on her small forehead when she was only a child are even deeper now.

Thirty only a few months ago. I’ll turn fifty-one in a few weeks. Christina is young enough to be my daughter. If I were her father, I’d put her over my knee, spank the shit out of her. Then I’d lock her in a room for a month until this shit worked out of her goddamn head.

I feel for the girl. I do. She had gone through hell, of that there is no doubt. I take no responsibility for it. The blame is on her psycho mother and her father for leaving his children with their mother, knowing she hurt them. Christina got through it to the other side. The life she made for herself was commendable—she hadn’t slipped into drugs or alcohol the way so many people in similar situations would have.

A few damn setbacks, and she’s going to dive back into the past instead of moving forward. It was easier for her to blame me. To turn me into the Boogie Man, than deal with the fact it was her own damn parents. It isn’t me she wants to kill—it’s her pain. But killing me won’t do it. For a person like her, it will only make it worse.

Reviewing her employment file, I can understand her shock at being fired. There was nothing but glowing reports. She had dedicated herself completely to helping people. She came in early, stayed late, giving all to her patients—leaving nothing for herself. Helping people, fixing people, gave her purpose. Was what gave her peace after all the shit she went through.

If she succeeded in killing me, there would be that high for accomplishing her goal. Then would come the anguish and the knowledge she had blackened her soul. Her regret will bring her the kind of pain she will never come back from. If she managed to walk away, I have little doubt she wouldn’t be able to live for long with what she had done.

The bell goes off on the oven. Even though food no longer appeals, I get up and retrieve it. Taking it back to the table, I eat without enjoyment. My cell goes off with a text; it’s Carlo. The message is brief, code for another hit. He wants to see me tomorrow. In visceral response, ice skims over me, ready to slide into my veins. It sends a different chill through me. No, not again. I had gone there, stayed far too long, and coming back from it was harder than getting clean from coke.

I’m yanked off-balance all over again at the sound of my doorbell. I frown as I wonder who it could be. It’s almost midnight. I check my phone for the camera. Thank fuck. Moving quickly, I key in the code and open the door.

Eve’s beautiful face is filled with concern. “Joseph hinted you might need company.”

Shame hits me, I hate the idea of using her. I ended our arrangement a few months ago. For almost four years, she had been my mistress. Until she wanted more, more I couldn’t give her. Eve had taken the end with grace and understanding.

She steps closer, her hand on my chest. “It’s okay. I need you too. Just for tonight. I won’t ask for more.”