Page 73 of Taming Seraphine

I turn my attention back to his target. It’s littered with holes and he hasn’t missed a shot.

“Nice job,” I reply with a smile. “You’re a natural.”

Miko grins, his freckled cheeks turning pink. “Thanks. Real guns are even better than video games.”

“Except in real life, your opponents don’t always stand still.”

“And I can get hurt,” he says with a nod. “I’m not stupid.”

I give him a clap on the back. “Never said you were, but there’s more to contract killing than shooting.”

Miko glances over at Seraphine, his brows pinching. “I bet you’re not saying that to her.”

From the nervous glances he’s casting Seraphine, he suspects she was a participant in one of Capello’s blackmail videos. My hand tightens around his shoulder, and he pulls off his earmuffs to look me full in the face. At nineteen, Miko is mature enough to know there’s a difference between their situations, yet he’s choosing to regress into the boy I brought home.

“Seraphine is on the other end of the spectrum,” I say, my voice low. “I’m teaching her self-control.”

Miko glances at the other end of the range, where she’s still shooting at her target with a single-mindedness that borders on obsession. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he looks back at me and gripes, “What if she can’t learn it?”

“She will.”

“Is she the reason Don’s clean-up crew?—”

“Miko,” I snap.

“What?”

“The less you know about this, the better.”

His gaze darts to her again and then back to me. “Alright.”

I nod. “Can you spare me your talents for a few hours tonight?”

His eyes sparkle, and his features light up in a grin. “What are we doing?”

“It’s time I visited Joseph Di Marco. Since he’s behind the hit on the lone gunman responsible for the Capello murders, maybe he’ll share some information before I put a bullet through his head.”

* * *

Infiltrating Di Marco’s mansion is easy, even though he also lives in the gated community of Queen’s Gardens. It helps that attorneys don’t usually require guards that work in shifts. After Miko disabled the security system, I slipped through an open window and made my way to the master bedroom. I almost regret leaving Seraphine behind, but I couldn’t afford a repeat of her earlier impulsiveness.

Joseph Di Marco is gray-haired, in his early seventies, and looks every bit his age in his flannel pajamas. The only things that belie his elderly appearance are the pistol beneath his pillow and the twenty-something blonde slumbering beside him, who is most definitely not his wife.

I pocket the firearm, pull out a syringe, and inject her with 50 mg of ketamine. That should keep her asleep until long after Di Marco’s body has cooled.

By the time I turn my attention back to the old man, he’s already awake and staring at me through wide eyes.

I take a seat on the edge of the bed. “Good evening, Mr. Di Marco.”

He reaches for the landline on his bedside table, pulls the receiver to his ear, taps on the hook switch over and over, before realizing it’s dead and then drops it.

“What do you want?” he croaks and pulls himself up to sit. “If it’s money?—”

“Where is Gabriel Capello?”

“Who?” he asks through ragged breaths.

“Five years ago, Frederic discovered his mistress was cheating with her bodyguard. You must have heard about it. He slit the guard’s throat, ordered his men to gang rape the woman, and then abducted the son and daughter.”

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