Page 8 of Scarlet Angel

What does he take me for? Regardless, he’s likely the ally I’ve been seeking. He’s also a pompous, arrogant prick who wields his handsome face and wealth to get whatever he wants, something I’d best remember.

CHAPTER3

NICK, AKA FALCON

The gravestones date back centuries, or so I’ve been told. The weathered dates are impossible to read on the diminutive marble slabs. A stacked stone fence marks the perimeter. It, too, bears the ravages of time. Brown dried leaves litter the ground, and a crisp breeze carries an earthy scent.

When I first acquired this estate, I invited a historian to visit. She found the cemetery fascinating. I rather enjoyed fucking her.

The resting place I selected for Leo Sullivan and Willow Gagliano Sullivan affords a view of rolling hills beneath a sprawling oak. Alessio Gagliano wanted to bring his daughter home, but I pushed for my dear friend and his young wife to be buried with my family. Alessio didn’t put up a fight.

Timing was on my side. Plus, the old man’s heartbroken. He and his wife’s red-rimmed eyes and dazed expressions speak of parents living a nightmare.

The inconvenient truth that his capo’s brother died at the hands of Leo Sullivan might have played to my advantage, as well, even if it was self-defense.

Sources claim the marriage of Alessio’s daughter to Leo proved to be a sore point with Massimo, the capo, and if the rumors are true, holding the funeral far from Italy is a wise political move.

I permitted the Gaglianos to bring their family priest, an Italian Catholic, who requested a significant donation to travel to England to perform the ceremony. I considered having someone else perform Leo’s service to spite the greedy priest, but this isn’t the time to wage petty battles. This is a time for grieving and for making amends.

Caskets encased in a watertight steel capsule rest in deep holes, and black folding chairs are lined up opposite them. Lina and I stand in the back to give privacy to the Gaglianos and to ensure we’re far enough away that the priest’s sermon is indecipherable.

This graveside service follows a lengthy church service. These Catholics could take a lesson or two in efficiency.

Scarlet’s fiery strands shift along her back every time she casts a furtive glance in our direction. What is she thinking? If she’s reconsidering my proposal, I’ll need to sharpen my powers of persuasion.

From what Willow shared, Scarlet doesn’t have much of a personal life back in Italy.

I casually asked a bartender back in Italy about Scarlet. I’d been curious after meeting her at Leo’s wedding. The man claimed no Lupi Grigi man would marry the ginger widow, given she cut off her husband’s dick and let him bleed out. Rumors say when he was in and out of consciousness and unable to fight her off, she placed his dick in his mouth and clamped a hand over his lips, forcing him to die choking on his penis.

Centuries ago, she would’ve been burned at the stake, possibly accused of being a witch. His death was ruled self-defense—with no mention of a dick in the mouth—so she’s free to roam the streets, but the court of popular opinion didn’t rule in her favor. Many of the Lupi Grigi men teach their wives lessons, so my source explained that while it is generally agreed that her husband took his lessons too far—breaking her jaw, fracturing her wrist, and slicing her with a knife—the Neanderthals believe she deserved punishment for unruly behavior. Right or wrong, none of the Lupi Grigi trust her touching the crown jewels.

The story of her past draws me to the metaphorical black widow. The beauty is strong enough to play the hand that rights her wrongs. An admirable trait.

Scarlet Gagliano is one avenue I’m exploring in my quest, and she’s quickly becoming my favorite. She stands out from the other mourners. Her vibrant coppery hair and pale skin are distinctive, as are her green eyes. Those green eyes are shaped similarly to her mother’s blues, but that’s the only resemblance I detect. Her father passed away years ago. I’ll have to dig up a photo because she looks so different than the rest of the Lupi Grigi with their dark hair and brown eyes; her uniqueness reeks of an affair.

Scarlet’s mother hadn’t been forced to remarry after her father’s untimely death. Sister-in-law status to the wealthiest legitimate businessman in the family might offer privileges. It’s also possible that, like her daughter, her marriage activities left her with few willing suitors. I could be off. Any mafia man high enough up the chain desires a young virgin bride.

The mafias and cartels create one fucked-up world. Their seemingly archaic rules and expectations allow them to function in a society that would otherwise lock them up like the brute monsters and drug lords they are. In my world, these vast, organized criminal organizations are a necessary evil—a military for ambitious leaders. Perhaps enforcer is the most apt designation for the protected underworld.

Governments around the world publicly claim to endlessly strive to dismantle organized crime, yet criminal organizations have never been stronger—by design.

Successful strategists deal in solid business fundamentals. But some mergers and agreements need greasing. Moscow rules apply. Old-fashioned kompromat boasts a high success rate, especially among politicians. Even so, all the world’s problems can’t be solved with persuasion. No, sometimes, people need to die.

I check my wrist, wondering how much longer the priest will drone on.

Security passes in the distance, presumably out for a stroll. I requested no patrols out of respect for the ceremony, but we’re on alert. Someone out there knows Leo betrayed us, and until I know who that person is, I can’t be certain what else they know.

“I still can’t believe this. So surreal. Have they learned anything more about the accident?” Lina dabs her eyes with a folded tissue. Perhaps she grew closer to Willow than I realized.

I clock the small family group. Heads down, dressed in shades of black, lost in the wake of their mourning.

“I’ve been checking the news,” Lina continues. “It’s odd, right? That there’s not more about two people crashing into the Thames and drowning?”

“More pressing news stories, I suppose. Happened in a crime-ridden area.”

“You don’t seem particularly distressed.”

She’s bent on judging me.

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