Page 39

B oyd

Sarah gets settled in at my place.

I remind myself it’s temporary. I’ve made her mine. I don’t want her to leave. But I’m realistic. This is still new. She isn’t ready to fully give in, no matter how we feel in the moment.

A day passes. Then another. The next thing I know, she’s spent two weeks in my bed. I love waking up next to her. Love the way her eyes open, all dazed and gorgeous. Even love the way they light up when she sees me for the first time every day.

But everything else is a mess. The Mafia Prince Killer has stayed silent.

Things are tense, not just with the Morandi family, but with everyone we do business with.

I can’t blame them. There’s a good chance one of them will be next, whenever the fucker decides to strike again.

Some have taken it a step further and moved their families out of Las Vegas. Can’t blame them for that, either.

Massimo gives me various assignments, but nothing major. I take care of them easily, eager to get home to Sarah. I’ve never been the eager-to-get-home type. It’s a completely new feeling for me, but I like it. Almost as much as I like the girl I get to go home to.

That’s where I’m headed right now. I stare at the elevator doors until they open, then quickly walk to my front door, swiping my keycard. I’m later than usual. It’s already dark, so dinner will likely be waiting for me. I hope it’s not a salad.

I catch a whiff of cranberry apple as soon as I open the door, but it isn’t food. It’s the latest taste on Sarah’s soft lips when I kiss them. I guess mine taste like watermelon now. Better than cigarettes, I suppose. Traded one vice for another, but I can already tell it’s making a difference.

“There she is, looking all Sarah pretty,” I laugh when I walk into the dining area and see Sarah sitting at the table, hunched over her laptop.

“Boyd!” she says, hopping up. “I was so focused I didn’t hear the door. Oh, crap, I was supposed to start dinner.”

“Fuck it, we can order something,” I scoff, walking over and kissing her before she can object.

Sarah has been cooking for me most nights.

She’s no Chef Karfakis, but I’m eating a lot better than I have in years.

She even convinced me to eat a salad… for dinner .

Didn’t hold me over very well, but it wasn’t bad.

Definitely healthier than eating whatever looks appetizing on the buffet at Salvalagio, like I was doing most days.

Sarah smiles when our lips part, but she quickly squirms out of my arms. “No, we don’t have to order. There’s still plenty of time.”

I follow her to the kitchen and lean against the counter, reaching for a glass and a bottle of scotch. “You don’t even like cooking,” I chuckle as I pour my drink.

“I didn’t used to, but I like cooking for you,” she says, glancing back at me before she opens the fridge and starts removing things. “Plus, I’m learning to make lots of new things!”

“Hopefully you’re not trying out a new salad tonight,” I grunt, taking a sip of my drink. “I was at Salvalagio all day and I’m fucking starving.”

“Didn’t hit up the buffet?” she teases. “You must like what I’m feeding you.”

“Feed me a salad tonight and you’re getting a spanking,” I warn, half-joking, half-serious.

“No salads tonight,” she says. “But instead of standing there watching me, you can go over my podcast transcript. I’m doing another episode based around one of the stories I overheard at Rafferty’s, so you need to approve it.”

“A transcript?” I ask, sipping my drink as I walk over to the table where she was working. “I don’t even get to hear your lovely voice?”

“You can listen to it after I finish it,” she answers. “But approve the transcript, so I don’t have to re-record the whole thing like I did last time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, sitting down and looking at the screen.

“And remember, if there’s anything you think I can say that I didn’t cover, please let me know. I tried to be extremely vague,” she continues. “My notes are beside my laptop.”

I pick up her notebook and flip through a few pages, then toss it down, noticing a newspaper underneath it.

“You ever put together enough about those missing tourists to do an episode?” I ask as I start reading her transcript.

“No, I couldn’t get enough information,” she replies. “No connection between them that I could find except they’re all tourists.”

I glance over at the newspaper, looking at the faces of the women at the bottom of the page. “Anything could happen to them in Vegas. Actually, now that I look at this picture, I think I remember seeing Valerie at Salvalagio a few times. Don’t recognize Catherine or Sadie, though.”

Sarah stops cooking and hurries over. “Wait. Valerie… Catherine… something about a Sadie. I knew those names were familiar! I heard all three of those names at Rafferty’s!”

“I mean, they’re common names.” I shrug.

“No, Boyd. It was two guys. They said those exact names. If you hadn’t burned the notes with the initials, I would have realized it sooner.

Holy shit! That means there’s a connection!

” Sarah grabs the newspaper and her notes.

She looks frustrated for a moment, then throws them both down.

“I need to finish dinner before I dig into this.”

I glance at the newspaper, then turn my attention back to her transcript.

A few missing tourists in Las Vegas isn’t that uncommon.

People go missing all the time, and usually, they surface later, ashamed of losing all their money or coming down from whatever bender they were on.

If the Bratva were still active like they used to be, missing women would definitely be a cause for concern, but even the cell we recently wiped out wasn’t that stupid.

“You did a great job with this episode,” I say, getting up after I finish it. “But stick to what you wrote. No going off script. If you do, I’ll need to listen to the entire thing before you upload it.”

“I know,” she replies.

I return to the kitchen, sip my scotch, and send some watermelon clouds into the air while I watch her cook dinner. I really do like having her here. I already know I want it to be permanent. I don’t want to go back to the lonely life I lived before I met Sarah.

My phone buzzes and I reach for it. Then my eyes get wide.

“Sarah, dinner will have to wait,” I snap, grabbing my suit jacket.

“Why? What’s going on?” she asks, turning to me with a confused look on her face.

“The gas sensors went off at the Bellamy residence!” I say, hurrying to the door.

“Wait! I’m coming with you!” she calls out, furiously trying to get the food off the burners.

“No,” I say firmly. “I have to go straight there. The Mafia Prince Killer could still be inside. It’s too risky.”

I slam the door without giving her a chance to respond.

This is one time she has to listen. Once I get to the elevator, I pull out my Glock, and make sure there’s a round chambered.

But hopefully I won’t have to use it. I’ve got a dart gun in my SUV.

Massimo made sure everyone had one, fully loaded with tranquilizers that can take down an elephant.

We want the Mafia Prince Killer alive, otherwise his dead man’s switch could trigger.

Eddie Bellamy is small-time. I’d hardly call him a crime boss. He has a small operation he runs out of a bar in Las Vegas. Mostly gambling, but he does high interest loans, too. The kind that will get you a pair of broken legs if you don’t make your payments on time.

I call my crew and confirm they’re on the way, then relay the ping for our meeting location when Massimo sends it.

Once I get close to the Bellamy residence, I kill my headlights and coast until I see a line of cars, SUVs, and members of the Morandi family, ready to move.

I park, hop out, grab my dart gun, and motion for my crew to follow me.

“Dante already took a group ahead to scout,” one of my guys says. “Rowan and his team are going around back. We’ve got this motherfucker. He won’t get away this time.”

“Damn right he won’t,” I growl, checking my dart gun. “But remember. We have to take him alive. Don’t use anything but darts. Let’s catch up so they don’t get to have all the fun. Put on your masks.”

I slide my gas mask over my head and lead my team through the patch of trees that separates the Bellamy residence from the road. It’s dark, but there’s enough moonlight for us to see without much difficulty.

Eddie Bellamy’s house isn’t a mansion, like most of the others that have been hit.

We almost skipped him with the sensors because we expected the Mafia Prince Killer to go after one of the bigger families, but we prioritized the families that fit the profile.

Eddie has three sons living with him, so he fits it perfectly, despite not being a major player in Las Vegas.

“Two of Bellamy’s men!” someone calls out, and I see Dante’s crew ahead of us, so we hurry to them. The guy who called out is already pointing at something lodged in the neck of one of the guys on the ground. “Tranquilizer darts. Looks like the same ones from other hits.”

“We need to get inside,” Dante says, looking at me. “Quick.”

“Agreed,” I say, then gesture to my guys. “Let’s go.”

Bellamy’s house is dark. No surprise. The power has likely been cut. Cell phones don’t work. But if the Mafia Prince Killer is inside, we’ve got him. He won’t get away this time. Hopefully, he won’t add any victims to his list before we can handle business.

I stomp across Eddie Bellamy’s front yard, but stop when a dart slams into the dirt in front of me.

“There’s a sniper!” I call out.

“Fuck, does he have backup?” Dante questions, then one of his guys gets hit with a dart and collapses. Several other guys get hit behind us. “Inside! Now!”

I run ahead, darts flying around me, guys falling as they get hit.

The Mafia Prince Killer normally doesn’t kill anyone except for his intended victims. Everyone else gets left lying, courtesy of the tranquilizer darts.

But I don’t want to find out if he’ll make an exception, with half the Morandi family on the fucking ground.

Which means we have to get this fucker.

I don’t bother to check if the front door is unlocked. I put my boot through it and barrel into the house with guys behind me. The door creates a bottleneck, and we lose a few more guys to the darts, but I pull Dante to the side.

“We need to send someone after that fucking sniper,” I growl. “You got your walkie-talkie?”

“Yeah,” Dante answers, pulling it out and giving the order.

“No doubt this fucker has heard us, so no need to be quiet,” I grunt, looking around with my dart gun ready. More of Bellamy’s men are on the floor, including Eddie himself. A few of his guys got their masks on in time, but not many. “Let’s check upstairs. That’s probably where the kids sleep.”

We move toward the stairs, but as soon as we get there, we’re met by a guy dressed in all black. I aim and take a shot, but he moves out of the way before it hits him.

“There he is!” I yell, pointing him out. “Open fire!”

The Mafia Prince Killer. He’s wearing a gas mask that is tinted, so I can’t see his features.

He’s dressed in some sort of black tactical body armor, similar to what the military uses.

He moves fast, and his aim is impeccable.

He creates a blockade of bodies as our guys storm up the stairs.

Even the darts that we manage to hit him with lodge in his armor and don’t slow him down.

Then I see another man dressed the exact same way. And another. Then three more rush out and take aim at us.

“Fuck!” Dante yells. “It’s not just one guy!”

“Shit!” I fire off a couple of shots, but a dart drills into my chest. I yank it free before I get the full effects, but my legs wobble. “I’m hit. Fuck.”

I stagger back down the stairs and fire off a couple of shots as I duck around the corner.

There’s more than one Mafia Prince Killer. A lot more than one. I peek around the corner, let off a few shots, and see that they’re getting the upper hand. I spot a walkie-talkie on the floor and grab it.

“Boss? You out there?” I mutter, rubbing the spot where the dart hit.

“Yeah,” Massimo growls. “Status?”

“Bad, boss. Really fucking bad! Darts aren’t working. We need to shoot to kill.” I throw the dart gun down and grab my Glock.

Massimo confirms the order, and I relay it to everyone around me. As soon as I do, I poke my head out and fire some lethal shots, aiming for necks and masks. I watch one drop, then another. The gas masks aren’t bulletproof, so we’ve got a fighting chance, even with so many guys down.

The Mafia Prince Killers seem to be communicating somehow, based on how they move.

And there’s more of them than we can see, judging by the number of darts flying.

Our guys finally get to the top of the stairs and hand-to-hand combat begins.

I’m woozy, but stable, so I try to press forward.

As soon as I do, I get a dart in my leg I rip free.

Another hits the arm holding my Glock and it goes numb before I can get the dart out.

My size gives me an advantage, but I can’t keep taking shots. I switch my Glock to my other hand and give my guys some backup fire, which allows them to push forward.

There’s more of us, but we weren’t expecting them to have an army, too. I fire off several rounds and watch some guys in black tactical gear hit the floor, but we’re taking losses, too. Hopefully, no fatalities, since it seems like these fuckers are sticking with their darts.

That’s what I think, at least, until an explosion at the top of the stairs forces me to grab the railing for support. A wall of fire erupts in front of me, blocking the way. A metal object bounces through the fire, and I see a grenade at my feet.

“Outside! Now!” I yell, turning and stumbling down the stairs. “They’ve got grenades!”

I pause at the door to make sure the guys who are still standing can get out. The second grenade explodes, tearing away most of the staircase and leaving rubble. I catch some shrapnel in my leg, but stay on my feet.

I’m groggy and catch several more darts in the back on my way out the door. These I can’t reach, and I hit my knees before I can ask for help. Through blurry vision, I see the fire spreading quickly in the Bellamy residence, right before another explosion shakes the ground.

Then everything goes black.