Page 3

CHAPTER 3

NICK, AKA FALCON

The gravestones date back centuries, or so I’ve been told. The weathered dates are impossible to read on the diminutive marble slabs. A stacked stone fence marks the perimeter. It, too, bears the ravages of time. Brown dried leaves litter the ground, and a crisp breeze carries an earthy scent.

When I first acquired this estate, I invited a historian to visit. She found the cemetery fascinating. I rather enjoyed fucking her.

The resting place I selected for Leo Sullivan and Willow Gagliano Sullivan affords a view of rolling hills beneath a sprawling oak. Alessio Gagliano wanted to bring his daughter home, but I pushed for my dear friend and his young wife to be buried with my family. Alessio didn’t put up a fight.

Timing was on my side. Plus, the old man’s heartbroken. He and his wife’s red-rimmed eyes and dazed expressions speak of parents living a nightmare.

The inconvenient truth that his capo’s brother died at the hands of Leo Sullivan might have played to my advantage, as well, even if it was self-defense.

Sources claim the marriage of Alessio’s daughter to Leo proved to be a sore point with Massimo, the capo, and if the rumors are true, holding the funeral far from Italy is a wise political move.

I permitted the Gaglianos to bring their family priest, an Italian Catholic, who requested a significant donation to travel to England to perform the ceremony. I considered having someone else perform Leo’s service to spite the greedy priest, but this isn’t the time to wage petty battles. This is a time for grieving and for making amends.

Caskets encased in a watertight steel capsule rest in deep holes, and black folding chairs are lined up opposite them. Lina and I stand in the back to give privacy to the Gaglianos and to ensure we’re far enough away that the priest’s sermon is indecipherable.

This graveside service follows a lengthy church service. These Catholics could take a lesson or two in efficiency.

Scarlet’s fiery strands shift along her back every time she casts a furtive glance in our direction. What is she thinking? If she’s reconsidering my proposal, I’ll need to sharpen my powers of persuasion.

From what Willow shared, Scarlet doesn’t have much of a personal life back in Italy.

I casually asked a bartender back in Italy about Scarlet. I’d been curious after meeting her at Leo’s wedding. The man claimed no Lupi Grigi man would marry the ginger widow, given she cut off her husband’s dick and let him bleed out. Rumors say when he was in and out of consciousness and unable to fight her off, she placed his dick in his mouth and clamped a hand over his lips, forcing him to die choking on his penis.

Centuries ago, she would’ve been burned at the stake, possibly accused of being a witch. His death was ruled self-defense—with no mention of a dick in the mouth—so she’s free to roam the streets, but the court of popular opinion didn’t rule in her favor. Many of the Lupi Grigi men teach their wives lessons, so my source explained that while it is generally agreed that her husband took his lessons too far—breaking her jaw, fracturing her wrist, and slicing her with a knife—the Neanderthals believe she deserved punishment for unruly behavior. Right or wrong, none of the Lupi Grigi trust her touching the crown jewels.

The story of her past draws me to the metaphorical black widow. The beauty is strong enough to play the hand that rights her wrongs. An admirable trait.

Scarlet Gagliano is one avenue I’m exploring in my quest, and she’s quickly becoming my favorite. She stands out from the other mourners. Her vibrant coppery hair and pale skin are distinctive, as are her green eyes. Those green eyes are shaped similarly to her mother’s blues, but that’s the only resemblance I detect. Her father passed away years ago. I’ll have to dig up a photo because she looks so different than the rest of the Lupi Grigi with their dark hair and brown eyes; her uniqueness reeks of an affair.

Scarlet’s mother hadn’t been forced to remarry after her father’s untimely death. Sister-in-law status to the wealthiest legitimate businessman in the family might offer privileges. It’s also possible that, like her daughter, her marriage activities left her with few willing suitors. I could be off. Any mafia man high enough up the chain desires a young virgin bride.

The mafias and cartels create one fucked-up world. Their seemingly archaic rules and expectations allow them to function in a society that would otherwise lock them up like the brute monsters and drug lords they are. In my world, these vast, organized criminal organizations are a necessary evil—a military for ambitious leaders. Perhaps enforcer is the most apt designation for the protected underworld.

Governments around the world publicly claim to endlessly strive to dismantle organized crime, yet criminal organizations have never been stronger—by design.

Successful strategists deal in solid business fundamentals. But some mergers and agreements need greasing. Moscow rules apply. Old-fashioned kompromat boasts a high success rate, especially among politicians. Even so, all the world’s problems can’t be solved with persuasion. No, sometimes, people need to die.

I check my wrist, wondering how much longer the priest will drone on.

Security passes in the distance, presumably out for a stroll. I requested no patrols out of respect for the ceremony, but we’re on alert. Someone out there knows Leo betrayed us, and until I know who that person is, I can’t be certain what else they know.

“I still can’t believe this. So surreal. Have they learned anything more about the accident?” Lina dabs her eyes with a folded tissue. Perhaps she grew closer to Willow than I realized.

I clock the small family group. Heads down, dressed in shades of black, lost in the wake of their mourning.

“I’ve been checking the news,” Lina continues. “It’s odd, right? That there’s not more about two people crashing into the Thames and drowning?”

“More pressing news stories, I suppose. Happened in a crime-ridden area.”

“You don’t seem particularly distressed.”

She’s bent on judging me.

“Have you ever seen me cry?” The answer is no, because I don’t show weakness.

My sister’s teary, but her mascara remains in place. Her dowdy chestnut dress would blend marvelously with pumpkins. It’s November, but still. “Is brown the new black?”

“I’m hungover.”

Do I even want to know?

“And brown is darkish. It’s acceptable.”

“Who were you drinking with?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, brother dearest?” Lina has the wisdom to maintain a somber expression, but there’s no doubt she’s grinning like a deranged lunatic on her devilish inside.

I’ll need to ask Ash. As head of my security, he’ll know. I spent the night in London and flew the Gagliano clan to our estate this morning.

“Please do me a favor?—”

“I’m not abstaining from alcohol.”

I release a deep breath to lower my skyrocketing blood pressure. “Please cozy up to Scarlet. Befriend her when the service ends? I need to speak with her uncle.”

“The ginger?”

“Yes.”

“Pretty sure you can speak to whoever you like. Don’t need me to act on your stage.”

“Lina.” Her eyes flit up to me, giving me a direct view of a mascara clump on her right upper lash.

“You’re quite serious.” Her eyes widen with realization.

No fuck.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll cozy.” Her words aim to placate me, but her tone does the opposite.

My mobile vibrates in my outer coat pocket. No one’s paying us any attention, so I pull out the device and check it.

Unknown number

Light drizzle and winds expected this evening.

Me

Shall we reschedule?

Unknown number

Your call. You’re the one flying.

The family rises and surrounds the priest.

A black sedan rolls into view, parking behind the line of limousines stretching along the lane.

The driver exits, and recognition flairs. Dorian. My old mate from school. An American. What’s he doing here? And he’s driving himself. He must’ve showed up at the house and they sent him here.

I gesture with my hand, letting him know he’s been seen. Chap has terrible timing. The funeral is wrapping up, and there are things I need to say. He’ll need to wait.

I position myself between the family and the limousines.

Alessio sees me and steps away from his wife. Lina, for once, does as I ask and approaches Scarlet.

“The service was beautiful,” I say.

He sniffs into a handkerchief. “It’s a beautiful resting spot.” He lifts his spectacles, wipes below his eyes, and lets the spectacles fall back into place on the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you for flying us out here, but we’ll take the car back.”

Given his wife was rather green during the helicopter ride, his statement isn’t surprising. The hired driver, dressed in a black overcoat, waits by the back of the limousine. Alessio’s wife meanders toward the car. His sister-in-law, Scarlet’s mother, stands near the folding chairs, watching Lina and her daughter.

“I appreciate your offer for Scarlet to stay back. She’s taken the events hard.”

I nod, both hands behind my back.

“Catarina agrees it’s a good idea to give her time to grieve. This coming weekend will be eventful, and…” Overtaken with emotion, he places the white linen handkerchief over the bridge of his nose and the spectacles slide up to his forehead.

The level of emotion he’s displaying is unexpected for a mafia man. Perhaps this is a reason he was passed over for the capo position in favor of Massimo. I had a scout attend Massimo’s brother’s funeral, and the capo didn’t shed a tear.

“I’ll arrange a return flight for her,” Alessio says after he’s pulled himself together.

This weekend, according to a source, Alessio’s fifteen-year-old son will become a made man. From what I understand of the Lupi Grigi’s methods, this will involve Orlando’s first kill of some poor sap and a boisterous party with hookers and whores.

I lack empathy for a man mourning his daughter while planning the death of someone else’s son.

“She’s welcome to stay as long as she wishes. There’s a lot of history in the area, should she choose to explore. And as you can see, my sister and Scarlet are hitting it off.”

“Scarlet would like to go through Willow’s things. Choose which items to send home.”

“Of course.”

“Willow sent her photos of her London flat. Scarlet said she wants to see it in person.” His gaze never tracks to his niece.

“That can be arranged.”

“And her studio.”

“Of course.”

“I’m not sure her mother or I…” He sniffles, and I clasp his shoulder. I think little of the man, but I’m not a beast.

The reading of the will will be next week. I inherited everything from Leo Sullivan. He updated his will for his estate to go to his young wife, but in the event she was deceased, the estate passed to me. It’s crossed my mind to gift the flat to Scarlet, but she might discover some unique attributes that would pique her curiosity. Leo’s hidden gun safe comes to mind. Given he had unknown partners, it’s likely he equipped his loft with additional features without my knowledge. With proper adjustments, perhaps it can be gifted. I’ll need to explore it first. Hire the right crew.

Gagliano wipes his ruddy nose once more and shoves the handkerchief into a coat pocket. He offers me his hand, and I’m grateful for my gloves.

Dorian leans against the sedan, observing. Someone out there knows Leo was our leak. Did word spread throughout the syndicate? Is Dorian here to verify the funeral? His old man has always used him like a tool. I could see him sending him on an errand. Whatever the reason for his appearance, my mate’s in no apparent rush.

Scarlet and Willow’s young brother are deep in conversation, and the way her mother is watching, she doesn’t approve. Of the family members, Scarlet’s mother has displayed the least amount of emotion, and now she’s impatient, flitting her gaze between the cousins and the waiting vehicle.

My gut tells me she wants her daughter to return with her. Perhaps Orlando wishes the same. But unfortunately for those two, the brilliant dame is coming home with me.