Taming Seraphine

LEROI

The firm I inherited from Anton has a number of valuable assets. Firearms, explosives, and facilities across New Alderney. None are more vital than the clean-up crew. They’re quiet, discreet, and can handle any size of job efficiently and without complaint.

I draw the living room curtains, encasing the space in gloom and survey the mess of spilled blood, slumped bodies, and slit throats. This is worse than the chaos I created at the Capello mansion.

Seraphine must have worked her way through the poker crew one by one when we were too high to realize she was picking us off with her stolen knife. I run a hand over my face and pinch the bridge of my nose.

Shit.

I can’t even blame the girl.

Billy Blue’s groping must have unlocked her pent-up rage from being powerless under the Capellos’ control. They didn’t just keep her prisoner, they put a shock collar around her neck and a chip under her skin.

What those sick fucks must have done to her. In her position, I wouldn’t have stopped at castrating one man. I raise a hand to my neck, wondering if she spared me for a reason, was saving me for last, or had simply forgotten?

I don’t dare to ask.

Her trauma, combined with Anton’s training, makes Seraphine a walking disaster.

The kitchen door opens, and Seraphine walks out, holding a half-eaten sandwich. Blood soaks the front of her sweatshirt, rolled up jogging pants, and coats her dainty little feet.

There’s no telling if she’s just pressed two slices together or has gathered up the dubious meat, but she stares straight into my eyes, brings the bread to her mouth, and takes a bite as though issuing a challenge.

“Stop that.” My jaw clenches.

Without stopping to chew her mouthful, she takes another bite. Her gaze fixes on mine with open defiance. She’s like a cat that’s eaten the proverbial canary and gives no fucks that it has feathers sticking out of its jaw.

At the third bite, something inside me snaps. I close the distance between us and pry the shit out of her hand. “You are not eating a cock sandwich,” I snarl. “Not in this house.”

Seraphine raises her chin and glares up at me, pretty eyes burning with insolence.

“You’re supposed to be cleaning up,” I snarl.

“I am,” she replies in a monotone.

My nostrils flare. What is it with this girl? One minute, I’m sympathizing with her, the next, I want to wrap my hands around her scrawny little throat.

“Pick one man,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even. “Drag him to the front door and put his shit in a bag.”

Still glaring up at me, she parts her lips, but I’m no longer interested in what she has to say.

“Trash bags are in the cupboard under the sink. Go.”

Seraphine slopes into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut, and reappears a moment later with a roll of bags. Trudging across the room like she’s on a death march, she cuts me a glower before disappearing behind her door.

My jaw drops.

She wants to clean up her attacker? Of the eight men she killed, she chooses him.

I run a hand through my hair and pull on the ends. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

The doorbell rings, snapping my attention away from Seraphine’s room. On the other side are six familiar faces, including Don. Standing at six-six, only two inches taller than me, but built like a barn, Don’s crew consists of relatives who share family genetics.

He offers me a broad smile and a raised brow. “You said it was a big job?”

“In here.” I step aside and sweep an arm toward the corpses.

Don steps through the threshold and lets out a low whistle. “Messy.”

“Good thing I don’t pay you for commentary,” I say. “Are you up for the task?”

His grin widens. “Sure, but we’ll have to wait until nightfall for the disposals. Anything more than two bodies attracts attention.”

“Fine.”

I leave them to it and walk across the living room to check on Seraphine, fully expecting to find her crouched in front of Billy Blue and carving out his balls.

When I open the door, she’s bent over his corpse and removing his shoes. The bed has been stripped and two full trash bags lean against the wall, presumably filled with blood-soaked sheets. She glances up at me before pulling off his socks and adding it to the pile.

“There’s a crew in the living room cleaning up dead poker players.” I want to make a barb about her having killed them, but I’m already feeling bad about putting someone so delicate to hard labor. “Don’t attack their dicks.”

Her pretty features twist into a scowl.

A chuckle rises from my gut. This situation is beyond fucked up. If I don’t laugh, I might turn a gun on everyone and keep shooting until someone puts me down like a rabid dog.

Hours later, long after the clean-up crew has bagged up every corpse, broken the down blood-sodden armchairs into transportable pieces, and scrubbed the walls and parquet floors clean, I’m standing in the spare room over Seraphine with my arms folded over my chest.

Billy Blue’s naked and castrated corpse sits in a corner of the room, his eyes staring unseeingly into the void.

This is cruel, and what I’m doing to her makes me an asshole.

I should be a gentleman and help the girl, but this is part of her education. Anton always said not to kill more men than you can clean up after unless you have a crew on standby or you’re working behind a long-range rifle. This is a lesson best learned through blood and sweat.

After scrubbing her room clean and changing into another set of Miko’s old clothes, she sits in the passenger seat of my Jeep with her arms folded over her chest.

We’re parked by the woodland at the edge of Anton’s land, waiting for the sun to set before she completes the final stage of her clean up. Resentment rolls off her narrow shoulders in shockwaves, although she hasn’t asked why I didn’t allow the crew to take care of Billy Blue.

“It’s time.” I reach beneath the dashboard to pull the lever to open the trunk.

She shoots me a scowl.

“Find a spot to bury the body.” I flick my head toward the woodland. “Avoid the roots and stones, or you’ll be here all night.”

Her features turn sour.

“Go.”

She opens the door, hurls herself out, and flounces out into the woods. As she passes the treeline, she casts me one last plaintive glower.

My lips twitch, and I shake my head.

“What a brat,” I mutter.

I sit back and watch Seraphine traipse around, trying to find the right patch of ground. The more time I spend with her, the more I’m convinced that she really could be Capello’s daughter. Or at least the child of someone wealthy enough to spoil her. I can tell that much by her inability to operate a mop.

The burner phone I set up for the Capello job rings. I pick up, already expecting to hear from one of my two cousins not trapped behind bars.

“It’s Benito.”

“Did you get the files we sent?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Capello gathered a shit-ton of information. It’s a lot to sift through, and Roman is getting impatient.”

“Not surprising,” I mutter. “How is he holding up?”

“He wants to speak to you.”

“You’re sure?

Benito grunts. “You know what he’s like.”

I do, but few other people know I grew up around the Montesano brothers until I was nine. We even share the same last name. Our fathers were like brothers, though they were only first cousins. When Dad died, Enzo Montesano was like a second father.

A shitstorm of circumstances tore us apart, and by the time Anton found me, my situation wasn’t much better than Miko’s had been. I trained under Anton, and the Montesano brothers worked in their father’s empire until his unexpected death and Roman’s false imprisonment for murder.

Eliminating the Capellos was my way of repaying the Montesanos. I enjoyed the company of my blood relatives.

Seraphine’s sullen face appears at my window.

“Got to go,” I mutter. “Text if you need help finding the right info. My tech guy can tear through those drives in hours.”

Benito thanks me and hangs up, and I roll down the window to speak to Seraphine. “Found a spot?”

She points toward the trees.

I open the door, making her jump back several paces, and step out. A cool breeze wafts through the wooded area, bringing with it the scent of leaves and damp wood. I inhale deeply to cleanse the stench of death.

We walk around to the trunk, where Billy Blue lies wrapped in blankets secured with duct tape. After hauling him out and depositing him on the floor, I extract a shovel and a pickax, and lay them beside the corpse.

Seraphine remains motionless, making no attempt to reach for any of the items, until I extract a cooler and a fold-up chair.

“What are those for?” she asks.

“I’ll need somewhere to sit and have a cool drink while you’re digging the grave.”

Her jaw drops.

She actually thinks I plan on cleaning the rest of her kill. The only reason I carried that corpse through the hallway and parking lot was to avoid leaving a mess that would lead back to my apartment.

I flick my head toward the dead body. “Get going. Billy Blue isn’t going to bury himself.”

The rage burning through her eyes tells me she wished she had slit my throat along with the poker crew. I carry my cooler and chair through the trees, waiting for her to drag the corpse and her equipment.

My lips twitch.

I’m going to enjoy watching her learn that her actions have consequences.