Page 66 of Taming Seraphine

Fiori shudders. “Oh my god, oh my god. You’re alive.”

Ignoring them both, I unhook the gun’s safety, producing a click that makes him stiffen with a noisy gasp.

“What did I say about making a noise?” I snarl.

Fiori swallows, his head darting toward Seraphine. “Please, don’t kill me,” he whispers. “I was only doing my job.”

My brows rise. I’m the one with a gun to his head and outweigh him by at least fifty pounds, yet he’s begging Seraphine for mercy? Interesting.

“Do you live alone?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

He nods furiously.

“Open the door and let us inside,” I say. “Answer our questions and nobody gets hurt.”

With shaking fingers, he unlocks the door of his house, letting out a cloud of nicotine. Keeping my gun to his head and an arm around his shoulders, I push him forward. Seraphine slips in behind us and closes the door.

We step into a small, tidy living space combined with a kitchenette, with nicotine-stained walls unadorned with art or photos. The only prominent feature is a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.

“I thought we were going to drag him to the car.” Pouting, Seraphine walks into view, making Fiori flinch.

“Well, I’d planned on attaching a tracker to his exhaust and catching up with him in an area less populated by Capello’s associates, but you decided to act alone.” My grip on Fiori tightens. “Since we’re here, let’s get the information and get out.”

The man shrinks into my chest, his breath coming in panicked gasps. “Keep her away from me. Please.”

My gaze darts down to Seraphine’s scowl. No matter how many times I look at her, I can’t see what’s so frightening. After all, I’m the one holding the gun.

“Where’s Gabriel?” she asks.

He recoils so closely into me that the pounding of his heart vibrates against my ribs. “W-who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I press the gun harder into his temple. “Don’t lie to us.”

“Please. I swear, I’ve never heard of him.”

Seraphine glances around the room before striding to the kitchenette. I follow her gaze to a magnetic strip on the wall, holding a set of knives. Instead of approaching them, she opens up cupboard after cupboard before extracting a bottle of lighter fluid.

Fiori whimpers.

“It’s in your best interest to answer my questions before she gets creative,” I mutter.

“Where did they keep my brother?” Seraphine asks with a scowl.

“I swear, I don’t know who that is!” Fiori cries, his voice rising several octaves.

When Seraphine brings the fluid to a pack of cigarettes and lighter at a low table, my stomach forms a knot. If I don’t get this guy to talk, Seraphine might start a fire that will attract unwanted attention.

“Did any of your employers order you to make regular deliveries to an address?” I ask.

“Wh-what kind?”

“Food.”

“N-no,” he shakes his head.

“Not even monthly?”

“The twins drove their own cars. They only called me when they needed me to pick them up from bars and clubs when they were too fucked up to function.”

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