Page 10 of Taming Seraphine

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I spent the rest of the night lying awake in bed, wondering how the hell any man could keep his daughter chained up in a basement. The thoughts twist and turn into the recesses of my mind until they fade to blackness.

It’s past noon by the time I wake up, and I bring Seraphine a selection of items lying about in the kitchen. It’s mostly potato chips, fruit, crackers, oatmeal, bottled water, and juice. Sal will order any supplements she might need, but until the next food delivery arrives, she has to manage with what’s available.

She lies on her side, still sleeping. Sunlight streams in through the window, brightening the ends of her blonde hair into strands of gold. The unbruised side of her face looks so peaceful, it’s almost angelic, and I’m transfixed.

Could she really be a Capello? Everyone related to the old man was brown-eyed and dark-haired. She could be a stepdaughter. It wouldn’t surprise me if she wasn’t trafficked to fulfill some sick daddy-daughter role play. I clench my jaw at the thought and tear my eyes away from the sight of her frail form. As long as I’m still breathing, no one will hurt this innocent girl.

The phone rings in the kitchen. I set down the tray and walk back to the device. Anton’s number appears on the display, and my jaw ticks.

He’s my mentor, a distant cousin of my mother’s who brought me into the business. The man who taught me that mixing emotions with murder was the fastest way to get a hitman killed.

“Anton,” I say, my voice tense.

“Did you hear about the disaster that took place early this morning at the Capello mansion?” he asks.

My mind races. Anton is strangely well-informed for a man who’s been retired for over five years.

“What happened?” I ask.

“A lone gunman entered the building and killed the entire family, along with several cousins.”

“A tragedy,” I mutter. “The Capellos were excellent customers.”

Anton falls silent, waiting for me to give further commentary, or maybe a confession. I trust this man with my life. He’s the one who taught me everything I know about surviving this business and has saved my ass more times than I can count.

Admitting I was the lone gunman might lead to explaining what I found in the basement. I can’t bring myself to tell him about Seraphine. Not yet.

“Are there any leads?” I ask.

“Nothing,” Anton says. “Whoever did this was careful not to leave any traces. Their security cameras fed old footage to the cloud, and the gunman reduced one wing of the mansion to a pile of flaming rubble.”

The corner of my lips lifts into a smirk. Thank fuck Miko is also a genius with explosives.

“I’ll ask around,” I say. “See if anyone heard anything.”

He grunts. “Don’t you usually have the boys around on Thursday nights for poker?”

Shit. By the boys, Anton means a selection of men with loose tongues and extensive connections. With enough booze and weed, they’ll give you the information you need or tell you where to start looking.

Every instinct says I should cancel this game, but doing so might arouse suspicion. Capello wasn’t the most respected leader, but I don’t want to risk anyone thinking I might be linked to the massacre.

“I’ll see what they say,” I mutter.

“The lone gunman also stole something that belonged to Capello.”

I hesitate. “What?”

“A Lolita assassin.”

A... I don’t even want to think of the implications. That has to be some bullshit rumor. My eyes squeeze shut, and my mind speeds from fifty miles an hour to a hundred. Anton carried out a few jobs for Capello before he retired, but I didn’t think they’d been well acquainted enough to share such sensitive intel.

“There’s no such thing as a Lolita assassin,” I say.

“Trained her myself,” he replies with a touch of pride. “Face like an angel with the instincts of a killer.”

Fuck.

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