Page 29 of Dark Breaker

Someone finally answers. “Chi è?” Who is it?

“Pubblicitta, signora.” Flyers, Mrs.

The door buzzes open.

I enter. I see a stack of flyers on the ledge above the mail boxes and grab a couple. I take the stairs since the elevator is occupied. On the fifth floor I head straight for her door. I press the buzzer and step back. I position myself so that she’ll be able to see the flyers I’m carrying.

When no one answers, I ring again. I’ve been keeping an eye on the peephole the whole time. I didn’t see it darken, which tells me either no one is home, or she’s a sound sleeper—given the hours that strippers keep, I doubt she’s awake.

I retrieve my lock pick tools and open the door. I enter quietly and leave the front door ajar in case I need to get out quickly. The guest room is empty. In the hallway, I can see three other rooms branching off.

I pass the first one—the kitchen. The second is a bathroom. The third, her bedroom. The shutters are closed, and the stripper is sound asleep. She’s even wearing an eye mask. This should be easy. If a door buzzer wouldn’t wake her, my soft footsteps definitely won’t.

I go to her bed and draw my ankle knife. I grab the piece of paper I’d prepared earlier and hold it to the wooden nightstand. I position the tip of the knife over the paper and press down. I put all my weight into it and the blade noiselessly digs into the wood, pinning the page to the nightstand.

I step back to examine my handiwork, and then read the note.

Mess with us at your peril.

I didn’t want to specify exactly who “us” is in case I need to deny it later. But the Jackal should get the hint, given how soon this message came after the death of my foreman.

I grin and back away carefully from the bed. I reach the front door, which is still ajar, and leave. I close the door softly behind me and take the stairs to the first floor. I see an old woman coming inside, and quickly bow my head, grabbing the tip of my fedora as if in greeting, when in truth I only want to hide my face.

“Ciao signora,” I tell her.

“Ciao,” she replies warily.

As soon as I’m gone, I resist the urge to break into a run. I walk calmly to my Fiat, step inside, and drive home.

* * *

A few days pass.We don’t hear a peep out of the Jackal or his Tunisians. I think I’ve solved the problem.

“What did you do?” Nicolo asks me when he visits in the middle of the week.

I bear my teeth in a feral grin. “Left a little note on his stripper girlfriend’s pillow.”

Nicolo’s eyes widen. “Was that a good idea?”

I shrug. “He’s stopped harassing us, hasn’t he?”

“What if he takes it personally,” Nicolo says. “I know I would.”

“I think the message is pretty clear,” I tell him. “If he does anything, then she dies.”

Nicolo shakes his head. “You’re cold, bro.”

“I never said I was going to kill her,” I tell him. And I doubt I’d stoop to that level. Unless the Jackal did something to a member of my family of course. Then all bets would be off. “But the threat should be enough to hold his hand. And if not, I’ll try something more direct.”

“You didn’t put our names on this little note of yours, did you?” Nicolo asks.

I laugh. “No.”

“All right,” Nicolo says. “I guess we don’t have to worry. Did you hear about Rosa by the way?”

“Hear what?” I ask nervously, wondering what she’s done now.

“She’s showing off the engagement ring you gave her on Snapchat,” he replies cautiously.