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SCARLET

F rancesco Gianni, Giuseppe Tadesco, Sergio Ramos, Clive Maxton, Bryan McKenzie and Sean Murphy. In 2009, those six heads of some of the most powerful crime families in the Eastern United States came together to take out a common enemy. Gideon’s father, Stephen Black.

Stephen hadn’t done anything wrong, mind you. At least not where the underworld is concerned. Here, in this place of corruption, money, drugs, sex, violence, everything is about power. Everyone wants more of it.

He craved power just like the rest of them. His sin was that he knew how to get it far better than most.

Had Stephen been left unchecked, he’d be ruling the entire eastern coast by now. No doubt. All those families, the Giannis, Tadescos, Ramos, Maxtons, McKenzies, and yes, even the Sinacores, would have fallen under his control. And Gideon would have inherited it all.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s not the only reason he’s so obsessed with revenge. This desire to bring them all to heel, is it because he loved his father, or because he lost his inheritance? It’s hard to figure with a man like Gideon.

Stephen wasn’t a kind man. In fact, if he’d found out about me he would have killed me. His son wasn’t allowed pets, and that’s what I was in the beginning. A cute mutt he rescued and kept hidden in his bedroom.

No, Stephen wasn’t a nice man, but Gideon respected him, and yeah, maybe he did love him.

The reasons behind it all don’t matter anyway. All that matters is that I swore my loyalty to him, and whatever he asks of me, I will do.

It took six men to take out Stephen Black. My job is to ensure that those six men don’t have legacies. It was why Gideon had me trained so well.

The list started out simple enough, though shit got complicated quickly. Out of the six original names, two were crossed off before I even began my hunt. Francesco Gianni and Sean Murphy had both died already.

That made Giuseppe Tadesco, the Don over Chicago, the first of my hits. It had been him that started the war against Gideon’s father, so it seemed fitting. He was in Jersey running some shady business right under the Gianni’s noses. All I had to do was pretend to be the prostitute he called for.

I’ve killed many men before, but there are only few that I remember as well as Giuseppe Tadesco. The older man might have been respected as the godfather of a powerful organization, but on the human scale, I’d say he was not much above scum.

The first thing I saw after passing his security team’s inspection and walked into his room, was the girl he’d called in before me. She was huddled in a corner holding the tattered pieces of her tight black dress over her chest. Her hair was a mess and bruises covered her arms.

When she heard my footsteps, she glanced up, but it was clear by her overly dilated pupils that she was high as fuck and couldn’t fully register who I was. She wiped a hand across her swollen lip and turned from me, pressing herself against the wall as if she wanted to disappear into it.

“Is she okay?” I asked Giuseppe, fighting the urge to go to her.

He was standing by a bar cart set across from the king size bed. “Don’t know. That’s how she showed up. Unprofessional whores don’t do it for me. That’s why I called you. You will be better, won’t you?”

My gaze flicked to his freshly cut knuckles as he poured two shots of whiskey. When he handed me one, I smiled. “I take my job very seriously.”

“Good girl. Now let me take out the trash before we get started.”

I said nothing as he practically tossed her out on her ass and called her names. I said nothing because it was best for her if the guards saw him still living when she left.

Five minutes later, Giuseppe lay on the bed naked and gutted with his own knife.

Bryan McKenzie of Boston was my next target, and when his brother James took over the family, he met the same fate. Like I said, my job is to ensure there is no legacy. No boss. No one to run their business.

Then it was Joaquin Gianni, the short slimeball that took over New Jersey after his father, Francesco, was killed in a suspicious car accident. It gave me almost as much pleasure to dispose of him as it did Giuseppe. But when his brother, Renzo, took over, I didn’t have to lift a finger because one of their own took care of it for me.

There was also Clive Maxton, the once king of the Philadelphia underworld. I don’t remember him. Don’t know what he looked like when I shot him because I was too focused on Maisie. Her screams of horror when she witnessed his death at my hands.

They’re not all dead, however. Because of their alliance with Luca Sinacore, some have been a little harder to take out.

First, there’s Arran Maxton, Clive’s son, and Noah Esposito, who is now over New Jersey and closest to the Sinacores.

Then we have the members of the alliance who have been purposely spared.

Rowan Kane, Bryan and James McKenzie’s nephew, but to our benefit also Gideon’s half-brother. And most recently, Gavin Alexander, Sean Murphy’s younger sibling who sought Gideon’s help to retake his Las Vegas casino after Marco Tadesco betrayed him.

Like I said, it’s become a complicated list that seems to have taken on a life of its own. A fucking family tree that continuously sprouts new branches, and it’s up to me to trim them.

Today, that branch happens to be Sergio Ramos.

He’s the last of what I like to call the originals. Also, the quietest of the bunch. He’s barricaded himself in his Miami mansion and left all of the talking to his cousin, Jorge Ruiz. Any negotiations have all been done through him, yet Sergio has refused to officially pass on the torch.

Because he never joined the Sinacore Alliance, the Ramos Cartel don’t have their backing. Maybe they think it’s too late to ask now. Maybe they heard how Marco Tadesco tried and was denied.

But they need alliances and that has forced Sergio out of hiding. They couldn’t find it in Florida, among the rivals they’ve fought for control. His only option was to seek backing elsewhere.

A meeting has been called with Armando Esquibel, head of the Lastros Cartel in Texas. It will be taking place at Original Sin, a gentlemen’s club here in the Quarter known as neutral ground. Anyone that goes inside must abide by the laws set by the owner. No weapons. No murder. In essence, it’s a safe space for criminals to go about their illegal business.

But Sergio won’t stay in there forever. Eventually the meeting will end and he will leave the safety of the club’s walls. And lucky for me, I know exactly where he’ll be heading.

I hate rats. Not the furry, cute four-legged kind, but the greedy human kind. I hate how quick they are to sell out anyone to save their own skins and how they seem to multiply and hide in every dirty hole of every dirty city.

Dealing with them comes with the territory. It was in the job description, right next to: must be willing to die for the boss .

Unfortunately for Sergio Ramos, dealing with rats is also part of his. His rat comes in the guise of his right-hand man, Jorge Ruiz.

In exchange for his boss, Jorge was promised the position he’s so desperately wanted for years. To play leader of the Ramos Cartel.

Jorge was only too eager to accept the offer.

After the charade that was the meeting with Armando, a ploy to get Sergio to leave the security provided by his loyal men in Miami, he is to meet his fate. Namely, me.

It’s not difficult sneaking into the barely guarded hotel where they’re staying. Something about that bothers me. I don’t like that this is a set up. That Sergio’s own men are looking the other way as I move quietly past them toward the adjoining suite.

When I step out onto the balcony and see the French doors of his room open, my heartburn flares to life. I grimace and push my fingers into my stomach, but it does nothing to alleviate the pain.

I swallow down the acid that’s threatening to bubble up and climb over the iron rail that separates the two balconies.

A slight breeze blows through the sheer curtains. Beyond them, a heavy set older man is on an antique settee cutting a cigar.

“Do you mind?” he says.

“Smoking isn’t allowed in this room, primo .”

Sergio laughs. “I believe we can break the rules for today. I already did with the contract I signed.”

“Armando is a powerful ally to have against Gideon Black.”

“And all it cost was half our market.” Sergio shakes his head. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Footsteps sound before a man that looks like younger version of himself appears with a lighter. “It was a good deal.”

“Was it?” Sergio peers up at him.

Just as he says that, I step through the sheer curtains and into the light of the room. Sergio’s head turns to me slowly, almost as if he’s unsurprised to see me, maybe even expecting to.

“What’s this?” he asks, a curious smile on his face.

“This is me, breaking the rules,” Jorge replies.

“The rule of respect and honor?” Sergio arches a brow.

“There is no honor amongst thieves. You taught me that, primo .”

“And for teaching you to survive, you sell me to the Ferryman. That was the actual deal after all, wasn’t it?” Sergio nods. “Of course it is. It all makes sense now, this push to leave Miami.”

“I gave you a chance, cousin. Remaining in hiding only makes us remain weak.”

“And what does cavorting with the enemy make you.”

Jorge takes a puff of his cigar and blows the smoke in Sergio’s direction. “If you would have let me take control?—”

“You’d be dead now.” Sergio looks poignantly at me.

“I have an agreement with Gideon Black. Something you should have done from the beginning.”

Sergio laughs. “You can’t make agreements with death.”

“Well I did. I’m taking what you should have given me long ago.”

“You didn’t earn it.”

It’s strange to stand here and watch the exchange between the two. I’ve never had to wait for my cue to strike from someone else. But that’s exactly what this is. I have to wait for Jorge to finish his bitching.

“I’ve been the face of the Ramos Cartel for months,” he argues. “You sent me and I went.”

Sergio takes a long swig of his drink. “I sent you because you were dispensable.”

This apparently hits a raw nerve with Jorge, because he roars in utter rage and throws his cigar across the room. I go to it and put it out. No need to burn down a historic building over this.

“You piece of shit. It’s no wonder your own men were so willing to help me.”

“ Your men, Jorge. Not mine. My men are all dead.”

“How do you know?”

“By now, you would have killed anyone who opposes you.” Another calm puff of his cigar.

There’s a lot you can tell by being still and listening to a conversation. I’m beginning to get a very clear picture of who these guys are. Sergio, the older and much wiser man who has done and seen it all. A man who’s earned his respect. Jorge, the younger more ambitious one. The one that wants it handed to him without any of the work.

“I’m tired of this. Kill him,” Jorge says with an entitlement that grates my nerves. Like he’s my boss and all he has to do is ring a little bell and I’ll come. He grabs another cigar and lights it. “And make it real. Don’t want any of this shit coming back to me. The Sinacores must believe it was all you, baby.”

A grin spreads across my lips. “Sure thing, boss.”

I stand in front of Sergio who is staring straight ahead, completely at ease with his fate. He takes a deep breath, straightens his spine and looks heavenward. “Perdona mis pecados, o se?or Jesucristo. Perdoname. Perdonala a ella. Que no lleve la culpa de esta muerte.” Forgive my sins, oh Lord Jesus. Forgive me. Forgive her. May she not carry the guilt of this death.

“Enough! Just get it over with.” Behind me, Jorge steps closer, as if he wants to have a good view.

Sergio’s gaze drops ever so slightly as he glances over my shoulder at his traitor. There’s something so fucking sad in his expression, so heartbroken, but no shock. He expected this betrayal from his cousin.

“Any last words?” I ask.

“Take care of Lulu,” he says.

Now, I don’t know who Lulu is, but something tells me that Jorge won’t give two shits about her. Mostly it’s the mocking chuckle he lets out.

It’s that laughter that changes everything.

I swing my blade around and behind me so fast, that the chuckle that is still coming from Jorge is now exiting through the deep gash in his neck. It’s a grotesque sound that makes me cringe, but it’s only momentary, quickly turning to a gurgling scream as he grasps the gaping hole with both his hands.

He falls backward, twitching for a few seconds before he succumbs.

“Good thing he died fast.” I step aside to avoid the puddle of blood thickly moving toward us. “I’m not sure how much of that I could have taken.”

“You killed him.” Sergio grunts as he struggles to stand.

“He annoyed me.” I look at him, then at the body at his feet. “You knew he’d betray you.”

Sergio nods. “I knew.”

“Who is Lulu?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“My Chihuahua.”

“Oh.”

“You seem disappointed.”

Shaking my head, I say, “I thought maybe it was a lover. Or a daughter.”

He groans as he goes to sit at the edge of the bed, a safe distance from the oozing stain that was Jorge’s life.

“Would it make it better if I said Lulu is all of I left of my wife? She carried that thing around in a purse. Now I do.” Tilting his head, he studies me. “Why did you kill Jorge?”

“I told you. He annoyed me.”

“Everyone is annoying. Why did you kill him?”

Because Jorge was a bad person. Because I could sense real evil inside him, just like I have every other person I’ve killed. Because that is my way of justifying what I do.

“I don’t know why I did it.” I wrinkle my nose at him.

“Liar,” he says.

I lean against the back of the settee he was just on and peer at Sergio. There is just something about him, maybe it’s the fact that he’s eighty years old or his sad, milky green eyes or the fact that he loves his dog. Mostly, it’s that I don’t sense him being a truly bad person. Criminal, yes. Evil, no.

“You will kill me now.” It’s a statement.

“Those are my orders.”

“Then you better get on with it before Jorge’s men come looking.” When I don’t move, he adds, “ Pero co?o , girl, do it already.”

My fist tightens around the hilt of the blade still covered in Jorge’s blood. I push off the settee and cautiously, I go to him. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t attempt to get away. Simply sits there watching me.

I set the bloodied knife on the bed beside him and from my boot produce another. I’m not sure why I do this. Using the same weapon has never bothered me before. However, something about Jorge’s blood disgusts me, and it seems like adding insult to injury if I use it against Sergio.

Taking a fistful of his thinning gray hair, I tug his head back and expose his neck. His eyes lock onto mine and it takes everything I have not to avert my gaze. “What will happen to your dog?”

He shuts his lids for a second and sighs deeply. “I pray God protects her.”

My lips pull tight and I growl as I release him. I dig my fingers deep into the pit of my stomach and begin to pace in a circle around Jorge’s body. “Fuck.”

“What’s the matter, girl?”

“Nothing. It’s just heartburn. Or a heart attack.”

“I have aspirin in my pocket.”

I drop my arms to the side and shoot him with an irritated glare. “You’re making this difficult.”

“I thought it was the opposite. If I fight you, it will hurt more and the end result will be the same. I’ll be dead.”

“You don’t know that! You could just as easily overpower me.”

He lets out another sigh. “I’m old and tired, girl. I want to go home.”

My shoulders slump. “Scarlet. My name is Scarlet.” I return to the settee, needing some distance. “Why did you kill Stephen Black?” I hope his answer will be so callus, it will make me want to finish what I started.

But then he says, “He killed my wife.”

That stops me in my tracks and I turn to him. “What?”

“2007. He came to Miami to make a deal behind his boss’s back. I sent a message to Giuseppe Tadesco informing him of that traitor. But Stephen intercepted it and retaliated by killing my wife.”

Frowning, I rummage through the files in my mind, every piece of information I’ve been given on the events that lead to Stephen’s death. This isn’t part of it.

“You have proof?”

“It’s there, but you’ll have to search for it on your own.” He watches me. “Not everything is as it seems.”

Approaching footsteps sound near the hall and we both glance at the door.

“We’re out of time,” he says. “Get on with it.”

“I can’t do it,” I whisper. How can I when everything is suddenly so unclear?

“If you don’t, your boss will take you out.”

“You can’t certain of that,” I say.

“I can,” he retorts. “Remember, I met Stephen Black. If his son is anything like him…”

I’m about to tell him that Gideon isn’t like that. That he would never harm me. But the words won’t come out when I realize I can’t be certain of that .

“If you don’t, they will,” Sergio says, pointing to the door. “At least you can make it quick.”

“I don’t—” Before I can finish my sentence, Sergio grabs the knife I left sitting beside him and jams it into his own throat.

Though I’m not one to gasp at every little surprise, I have to stifle a scream of horror. I rush to him as he slumps over, and help him gently lie on his back.

He takes hold of my hand as he tries to die with dignity. But damn, it must hurt to stab yourself in the neck.

“You stupid man. I could have made it painless,” I say.

His mouth opens slightly as with his eyes he tells me that I could have, but I was a coward.

When he finally fades, I squeeze his hand. I’d pray for his soul, but I’m not sure a plea from me would do him any favors. Actually, it might guarantee his ticket to Hell. Best I keep quiet.

I place a 2009 penny over each of his eyes. For the first time in months, a pound of guilt is added to my already heavy burden.

I didn’t kill him, but his blood is still on my hands.