Page 5 of Taming Seraphine

The next bedroom belongs to the second son, Samson. He’s sprawled face-down on the bed, passed out from the revelry. I squeeze the trigger and lodge a bullet in the back of his skull.

In the master suite, Frederic Capello snores in an armchair, still dressed in his tuxedo. According to my research, he has liver problems, but he looks like the picture of health for a man of sixty. Placing the barrel of my gun against his forehead, I shoot.

Marisol Capello is in the bedroom, dressed in a black lace camisole. Her features are obscured by her long blonde hair, but there’s no mistaking her from the massive diamond on her ring finger. She’s the old man’s much younger, fourth wife. With the twins dead, she stands to inherit the syndicate’s assets if she survives the night.

My jaw clenches. No women or children. That’s my code, but it’s something I must break if I’m going to eliminate the Capellos and free my cousin from death row.

Damn it.

I take aim and shoot her in the heart.

So far, killing the Capellos is easy. Finding the recordings that will prove my cousin innocent will be tricky.

I return to the suite’s lounge area and extract a saw from my backpack. On a less perilous job, I would leave the target alive to open the biometric safe, but my time here is limited.

With a deep breath, I grab a cord, loop it into a tourniquet just above Capello’s wrist and pull it tight. After positioning his hand on the armrest, I get to work.

Blood splatters on the cream carpet. I step out of its path and continue sawing until I’ve secured the hand adorned with the Capello signet ring.

It’s still warm when I reach the safe. His thumbprint activates the lock, and I open the safe, finding stacks of folders, hard drives, and a bunch of shit I don’t have time to catalog.

Most syndicates gain strength through hard work, determination and the skillful application of violence, but Capello’s currency was information. He had dirt on every judge, every politician, every high-ranking police officer ,and official in the state of New Alderney and beyond. That, and a copious amount of backstabbing.

Everything goes into my bag, except the hand, which I still need. According to my intel, Capello’s secret weapon is in the basement.

The first rays of morning light filter in through the windows as I head down the stairs. A flash of movement at the far end of the manicured gardens tells me that my time is running low. I press the old man’s index finger up to the reader and the door to the basement unlocks with a deafening click.

It’s dark inside, save for a flickering TV at the far end of the vast space. I don’t bother turning on the light in case that triggers an alarm, but I raise the pistol and make my way toward the screen.

“Leroi,” Miko hisses through the earpiece. “A delivery van’s approaching the gates.”

“Good,” I whisper. “Keep me informed.”

The driver of that van is a poker buddy who will attempt to deliver an incorrectly addressed package. His job is to distract the guards with his incompetence, in case what’s in the basement is time consuming.

I flip on my headlamp to illuminate my way, passing exercise equipment and a tiny kitchenette. So far, there’s no sign of another safe. There is, however, a small figure lying on a bed.

It’s a girl with pale blond hair and a bruised eye. It’s hard to tell her age in the dark, but she’s frail. Her breaths are shallow, and the tightness of her jaw tells me she might be awake.

She lies in the fetal position wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a metal collar. It’s a four inch wide band of steel with a thick compartment at the front that glows with red light. Everything about it reminds me of the device Anton uses on his farm to train his sheep dogs.

My nostrils flare when it dawns on me.

It’s a shock collar.

Fuck. I knew Capello was dirty, but sex slaves in the basement? That bullet through the skull was too merciful.

A D-ring at the front of her collar connects to a chain that disappears beneath the bed. Based on the level of security in this house, it’s probably linked to an alarm system.

The weight of my backpack settles on my shoulders, a reminder that my cousin, Roman, is in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. I have enough information to free him, but it will only help if I leave now, before the guards realize the family is dead. Now, before they come after me in a rain of gunfire.

My breath hitches. Can I really leave this girl in the basement?

If the only people who can access this place are dead, then it’s only a matter of weeks before she starves. If she’s found, then someone might hand her over to another monster for the same treatment, or worse.

I can’t leave her to either fate.

Maybe I should shoot her in the head and send her straight to heaven. I dismiss that thought in an instant. I don’t kill kids.

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