Taming Seraphine

SERAPHINE

I lick chocolate off my fingers, trying to calculate the amount of time it would take for Leroi to walk upstairs, tell his father that he’s busy, and come back. Five minutes, if they’re arguing. Ten, if they’ve gotten into a conversation.

Concern taints the deliciousness of the Belgian waffle I drenched in melted chocolate, strawberries, bananas, and marshmallows. Much of it is already gone, washed down with gulps of coffee.

My gaze skims Leroi’s thoughtful gift of new art supplies, complete with extra red pens to make the blood more vibrant, but I can barely concentrate because he’s taking too long. Besides, I thought his dad was dead?

I take another huge bite. If he doesn’t return by the time I’ve finished this waffle and licked the plate clean, I’ll sneak upstairs and see if he needs help.

Screw that.

By the time I’ve chewed and swallowed my mouthful, I’m already upstairs ringing the doorbell holding a metal skewer in one hand and a broken plate in another that I’ve fashioned into a shank.

Leroi doesn’t answer, so I press my ear on the door to listen for any movement. Hearing nothing, I walk to Miko’s apartment next door and keep ringing the way Rosalind’s sister did yesterday.

Minutes later, the door creaks open. Miko peeks out through puffy eyes, his red hair standing up at all angles.

“Sera?” he croaks. “What’s up?”

“Leroi’s not answering.” I flick my head toward the door. “Do you have a spare key?”

Miko rubs his eyes and yawns. “What? No. Um… you’d better come in.”

He shuffles aside, letting me into an apartment that’s the polar opposite to Leroi’s. It’s smaller, with computer equipment stretching over an entire wall, while the others are lined with shelves filled with action figures still in their boxes.

I glance over my shoulder, letting the door swing shut behind me. My fingers close around my makeshift weapons, and I fold my arms over my breasts. I’m only wearing a thin nightshirt, and it’s spattered with melted chocolate.

Miko lowers himself into a leather gaming chair with a footrest that’s reclined all the way backward. If I wasn’t so worried about Leroi, I’d wonder if that was his bed.

“Can you call him?” I ask.

“He’s not answering.” He stares down at his phone and sighs. “Take a seat.”

“No, thanks.” I point at the balcony door. “Is there any way I can climb into his apartment from there?”

Miko swings his chair in the direction I’m looking and frowns. “You’d have to smash through the glass partition. What’s wrong? I thought you two were joined at the hip?”

“He had a visitor,” I say. “The man downstairs said it was his father.”

Miko snorts. “You might as well sit down and get comfortable. Anton is a bit of a windbag. They’re going to take a while.”

My heart skips several beats.

“Anton?”

“Leroi didn’t tell you how he became an assassin?”

“He did but…”

Anton is a common enough name, isn’t it? I don’t know how many older hitmen work in New Alderney, but it’s too much of a coincidence. Leroi would have said something if my handler and his mentor were the same man. Wouldn’t he?

“Oh!” Miko says, his excitement cutting through my confusion. “I think I found Gabriel.”

“Where?” I rush to his side.

He launches into a long, garbled explanation about finding an alias for a live donor who matched Gabriel’s credentials in a Mexican hospital and then cross referencing these details, giving Miko an address.

I grab his shoulder. “We should go.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Leroi?”

I glance at the door. This mission likely requires a professional. Even if Dad didn’t hire guards to keep Gabriel from escaping, he’d use high-end technology to keep him locked up.

But Miko is Leroi’s tech guy, and I’ve seen him handle a gun.

“Call Leroi,” I say. “If he doesn’t reply, then we’ll go without him.”

With a nod, Miko taps his phone and puts the call on speaker. It rings twice before Leroi answers.

“I’m busy,” he snaps. “Is this urgent?”

“I’m with Seraphine⁠—”

“Stay where you are and keep her busy.”

I flinch at the harshness of his words. Fifteen minutes ago, I was the center of his attention. Now, he makes me sound like a nuisance.

Miko frowns at his screen. “He hung up.”

“Let’s go.”

“Don’t you want to get dressed first?” He gestures at my nightshirt.

Any other time, I would shrink away. Miko isn’t a threat, but I can’t stand the thought of a man who isn’t Leroi looking at me when I’m barely dressed.

“Do you have anything I can borrow?” I ask.

Less than ten minutes later, we’re driving down the highway toward an apartment building owned by Dad’s lawyer, Joseph Di Marco. The afternoon sun shines through the windshield, making me pull down the brim of my borrowed baseball cap.

On the way, Miko shares his backstory with me. It’s similar to Leroi’s, except he was an only child that took the brunt of his stepfather’s abuse. I nod at the right places to show him I’m listening, while trying to find an opportunity to bring up Anton. I need to know if he and Leroi are connected to the Anton I want to kill.

“Leroi’s my hero,” Miko says, his voice choked with emotion. “I never had a real dad until I met him.”

“He isn’t old enough to be your dad,” I reply.

He grins. “He’s thirty-four and I’m nineteen. Technically, he could have had me when he was fifteen.”

“Did you live with him, too?”

“For the first few months, I stayed in his spare room. Leroi got me a therapist, took me out jogging, and taught me how to meditate.” He shakes his head and sighs. “He paid for all my online courses, got me whatever I wanted. He’s my fucking idol.”

“But you work for him, right?”

“I’m a freelancer, but yeah, I do a few jobs for Leroi.” He pulls in outside a low-rise apartment building and parks. “If it wasn’t for Leroi, I don’t think I would have survived my teens.”

My throat thickens. All evidence so far points that Leroi found me by coincidence while helping out his cousins. I’ve even seen one of the Montesano brothers up close. Leroi is a hitman with a heart, he can’t be connected to my handler.

Miko leans across to the glove box where a pair of pistols sit amongst a short-blade knife and a computer tablet. “Take one. We could be walking into anything.”

I select a gun, and while Miko is distracted, I slip the knife in my pocket and exit the car. My heart hammers in double time to my footsteps as we walk across the lawn that surrounds the building. Gabriel might be inside one of these units, tied to a chair in that darkened room.

For the first six months of my captivity, Samson and Gregor only allowed me to watch him sit there, battered, emaciated, and struggling for breath. The backs of my eyes sting at the thought of how he’s going to look after being forced to donate his liver twice.

“Are you alright?” Miko asks.

“Y-yeah.” I nod.

He opens the front door. “This has to be nerve-racking. How long has it been since you last saw Gabriel?”

“Five years,” I mumble. “Which one is it?”

He points at a unit on the left.

“Hide the gun,” he whispers.

My lips tighten. Did Leroi ever tell him that I spent those five years killing dangerous men? Step one of being an assassin is to make sure they don’t see you coming. I brush off the annoyance. Miko probably thinks he’s being helpful.

We knock on the door, and an auburn-haired woman answers, wearing long pigtails with an even longer, flowing dress. My heart sinks. She doesn’t even remotely look capable of holding a man hostage.

“Does Gabe Jenkins live here?” Miko asks.

She smiles. “Gabe moved out a year ago. Do you want his new address?”

Miko and I exchange shocked glances.

New address?

Wait a minute. I thought Gabriel was a prisoner.