Page 86 of Taming Seraphine

“Then do what you can to get away from him and find me.”

Her lips tighten, presumably with disapproval.

“Try it tonight,” I say. “If you succeed in the exercise, you can choose your reward.”

Her eyes light up, and her lips part, reminding me of when she asked for a kiss.

“Within limits,” I add. At her frown, I ask, “Deal?”

“Whatever,” she huffs, sounding half a decade younger.

I shake my head and continue toward the park’s wrought-iron gates. Seraphine is a deadly little handful, but I’m determined to use every method at my disposal to quench her thirst for blood. For her sake, I hope my training works.

THIRTY-ONE

LEROI

Seraphine and I walk the few blocks from the park to the boutique Rosalind used to rave about before she became so bothersome. According to her, its owner sources the best nightclub attire.

After warning her on the walk here that there would be consequences for bad behavior, Seraphine and the sales clerk disappear behind the fitting room door to try on a handful of dresses.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call. It’s Rita, the firm’s coordinator and customer service woman.

“The client is getting impatient and wants to know if you’ve made progress tracking down the Capello killer,” she says before I have a chance to say hello.

A corner of my mouth lifts into a smile. Joseph Di Marco already got the answer to that question right before I shot him between the eyes.

“Still working on it,” I say to placate her. “Is there anything else?”

She huffs. “That’s not good enough. What exactly should I tell him when he calls back in ten minutes?”

Wait.

What?

My gaze darts toward the fitting room. There are no blood-curdling screams or suspicious red liquid seeping through the door, so I proceed toward the exit.

I step outside into the street, letting the rumble of traffic muffle my side of the conversation. If Joseph Di Marco wasn’t the man who commissioned the hit on the Capello killer, then who did?

Every high-ranking member of Frederic Capello’s organization would have benefitted from the death of their boss. I can’t see who would waste money on avenging the worthless bastard.

“When did the client call?” I ask, my brows hitching.

“Just now.” Her voice is hard. “He was extremely agitated.”

Not surprising, if he just discovered that Capello’s lawyer was murdered. Who else was close enough to the family to want to avenge their deaths? The illegitimate daughter? I shake off that thought. Roman said she was a visual artist and implied that she’d lived apart from her father. It couldn’t be her.

It could be Samson’s fiancé, Joseph Di Marco’s daughter. She might have convinced her father to put out the hit, but how much can a woman love a psychopath with a rotted dick? I shake off that idea. Rita said the client was male.

“So, what should I tell him?” Rita asks.

“One of my informants recognized a contract killer walking through the Capello Casino a week before the murders,” I lie, hoping it would satisfy her and the mystery client. “I’m following up on leads to find out who hired him.”

Rita’s exhaled relief eases a little of my tension. “Good. I’ll tell him.”

“Let the client know the assassin will need a lot of persuasion to release those details. It’ll take time to track someone who doesn’t want to be found.”

“Alright.”

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