Page 63 of Taming Seraphine

I raise a shoulder. Whenever Dad was away on long business trips, Mom used to experiment with her hair. Sometimes, she would go lighter with lemon juice or chamomile, other times, she would change her shade of blonde to something warmer.

Being her guinea pig in those hair experiments was fun. Mom was always a different person when Dad wasn’t around. She wore different clothes and went out to meet girlfriends.

I used to love helping her choose her outfits and wished she would invite these glamorous female friends over to the house for coffee. Her excuse was always the same. These women were old money. They lived in the illustrious Alderney Hill and wouldn’t care to visit a house in Queen’s Gardens. She’d just blow me a kiss and leave with Raphael the bodyguard and not return until the next day or the day after.

It took her death and my imprisonment to work out that these ‘ladies’ nights’ were a sham. Casting aside the bitterness, I zone back into the conversation and ask, “Don’t you know about natural hair remedies?”

Farfalla grins. “Leroi can brew the rounds of coffee. While we’re waiting for the pigment to darken your hair, I’ll teach you how to apply makeup and fit your contact lenses.”

The thought of playing dress-up while Gabriel is festering in a darkened room makes my throat thicken with so much guilt that my breath stalls. I hate that Leroi has a point. All my missions were carefully planned so I would meet the target with few witnesses. Even if I was spotted, it was only briefly.

The twins worked out my exit routes and always had Pietro waiting to drive me away. I escaped mostly unscathed. A disguise might allow me to move about without anyone connecting me to former missions.

Leroi heads toward a kitchen area behind the sofa and opens and closes cupboards without complaint. This man isn’t like my captors. He lets me talk to people and we’ve been outside every day. He hasn’t taken advantage of me, unlike every man I’ve met since Dad handed me to the twins. When he disappears out of sight, my chest tightens until he returns with a coffeepot.

My jaw clenches. I can’t grow too attached. For sixteen years, I was Dad’s princess, until he decided that I wasn’t. Leroi might be the most attractive and interesting man I’ve met in my entire existence. He might even be my perfect match, but that doesn’t mean he won’t stab me in the back.

Which is why I plan to stab him first.

TWENTY-THREE

LEROI

I lean against the living room wall, watching Farfalla teach Seraphine how to contour her eyes. She looks so at ease with Farfalla that it’s hard to believe the trauma she’s suffered.

It’s hard to tear my gaze away from her when she’s so vibrant and happy. She’s so mesmerized by the process that her posture relaxes as she applies pigment with a makeup brush. When Farfalla places a hand on Seraphine’s shoulder, I stiffen, expecting the worst. But she glances up at Farfalla and smiles. It’s the same radiant expression she gave the redhead at Wonderland. Maybe that’s because she doesn’t see either of them as a threat.

Yet another glimpse of the mystery that is Seraphine.

I could spend all morning staring at this girl applying makeup, but the Capello job has more loose ends than a rag rug. If Seraphine is ever going to have a normal life, I need to fasten them tighter than a garotte.

Our first lead is Pietro Fiori, the driver assigned to the Capello twins who also took Seraphine to and from her murderous missions. According to Miko’s research, he lives alone in a house close to Capello’s estate. I expect he’s probably enjoying a few days of paid leave, thanks to the death of his employers.

I glance down at my phone and fire up one of the many surveillance cameras Miko and I set up to observe Capello’s movements. Construction workers have already cleared the rubble from our explosions and are rebuilding the damaged wing. Some of their vehicles are parked a street away from our target, so we will have to be careful when extracting Fiori. Too many witnesses.

A text from Miko appears on the screen.

Tracked the deposit from an offshore account linked to the Di Marco Law Group.

My eyes narrow, and I wait for Miko to elaborate.

The next text contains a hyperlink that leads to a page on the New Alderney Times with the headline: OPENING DAY OF HOTEL MARISOL

A photo appears of Frederic and Marisol Capello holding a ribbon beside a gray-haired man in his late sixties in the foyer of a luxury hotel. The caption reads:Frederic Capello and Di Marco Law Group Chairman, Joseph Di Marco, at the opening day of Hotel Marisol.

Another link appears, which leads to a page that announces the engagement of Joseph Di Marco’s daughter to Samson Capello. My brows rise. I wonder how Samson explained his rotted penis to his fiancée.

I send a message back to Miko.

Great work. Are you sure the funds came from Joseph Di Marco directly? How about someone else in the firm?

He replies immediately, likely expecting my question:

Working on it.

Miko and I work our way through everyone in the Di Marco Law Group who might be powerful enough to have access to the funds to pay for a hit, but find no one else but its chairman. Joseph Di Marco is the only lawyer in the firm with strong ties to the Capello family. He has no partners and even his senior employees don’t appear to be connected to any major families in the underworld.

This leaves me with two options: kill the old man or present him with the dead body of someone convincing enough and with enough connections to have pulled off the massacre.

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