His Salvation: Cavalieri Della Morte

by Marta, Claire

  His Salvation

  Cavalieri Della Morte

  Claire Marta

  Copyright © 2019 Claire Marta

  Cover Design © 2019 by Jay Aheer (Simple Defined Art)

  Formatted by Raven Designs

  Edited by Tracy Roelle

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be used, distributed or reproduced in any manner, including photocopying, recording or other methods electronic or mechanical, whatsoever without prior permission from the Author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  The book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  The Cavalieri Della Morte

  The Authors

  Kay

  Evelyn

  Kay

  Evelyn

  Kay

  Evelyn

  Kay

  Evelyn

  Kay

  Evelyn

  Kay

  Eve

  Kay

  Evelyn

  Kay

  Evelyn

  Kay

  Kay

  Evelyn

  Kay

  Evelyn

  Kay

  Evelyn

  Kay

  Kay

  Kay

  Evelyn

  Kay

  Epilogue

  The Cavalieri Della Morte Series

  A Sneak Peek at Ivy’s Poison

  Prologue

  About the Author

  Find Claire Online

  Other Books by Claire

  Blurb

  I’ve been betrayed. A hit gone wrong. I'm hurt and hunted.

  She helps me out of fear—an innocent snatched up in my bid to escape. I can’t let her live because she’s seen my face.

  No survivors. No witnesses. That’s a code I live by and one I’ve always upheld. Yet when it comes to my petal, she makes me hesitate.

  I want to taste her and make her mine in the most primitive way. Ravage her. Devour her. Allowing my need for her to take hold.

  Unsure of who to trust, I feel the enemy closing in. I should set her free, but I can't. I’ll discover who has a price on my head, and I'll end them, meeting blood with blood, and bullet with bullet.

  Would she still want me when she sees me kill?

  Or will it scare her off for good?

  Thank you to the ladies of the Cavalieri for allowing me to be part of this world. To our dangerous men, feisty heroines and a dark world full of promise.

  Kay

  Wisps of white curl up into the cold Rome winter air. Gaze fixed on them, I watch as they dissipate. The soft orange glow of my cigarette burns brightly in the dark. Perched on the roof of the hotel, I admire the brightness held between two fingers. A tiny speck in the movement of the ancient city going unnoticed, much like myself.

  It’s something to do with my hands when they can’t be occupied with other things. A knife or gun. The sexy willing curves of a woman I’m about to sink my cock into. Not that I’ve been doing the last one a lot lately. My boss, Arthur, has been keeping me balls deep in work and on the move. It’s not often I get a moment to myself, nowadays. A second to reflect. It won’t last long. My mark will be done fucking soon. Tracking her movements over the last week has been simple enough.

  She isn’t the clean-cut business woman she seems. Enmeshed in the sex trafficking trade, her wealth comes from the misery of others. A key cog in the organization running things behind the scenes. Her death is meant to be a message.

  Someone wants her dead. A warning to them.

  That’s where I come in.

  Kay Lockwood.

  I’m always discrete.

  A hitman of the highest caliber.

  A bullet to the head or a new home in a shallow unmarked grave, I never fail when I’m given a task. I’ve lost count of the lives I’ve snuffed out. There are too many to tally.

  My name brings only fear and respect.

  I’m best of the best. One of an elite cast of killers.

  A shadow.

  We're the bogymen.

  The monsters other criminals whisper about.

  They have no fucking idea how accurate they are.

  Like the rest of the men of the Cavalieri della morte, I’m hardened by the life we choose to lead.

  Assassins. Mercenaries. Hitmen for hire. There’s nothing soft about this band of brothers and at the head of this table of death sits our leader. Arthur.

  I have no qualms over what I’ve been tasked to do. No pity or remorse. Never reflect on the lives I take. Business is business. The money is good, and it feeds the dark urges that have always been in my soul.

  Taking a drag from my smoke, I let it fill my lungs. Tonight’s assignment should be a breeze. I’m polite enough not to end them in the middle of their fun. One last fuck. I’ll let them have their blissful come down. Pleasure finished a fond farewell they have no idea will be their last.

  Shifting, I stretch my legs out on the hard, cold concrete. The sound of the street floats up from below. Rome hasn’t changed much. I haven’t been back in eight years. A long time to be away from the place you grew up. The memories here are bitter sweet. This is where I learned my talent for pain. A place of loss and second chances. I was born into this life as was my father before me. It’s in my blood. My soul. You know you have a calling when you’ve never flinched from inflicting hurt on others.

  The soft vibration in my back pocket has me slipping out my cell phone. Pad of my finger swiping across the sleek, smooth screen, the message lights up in a pale glow. A pair of generous bare breasts fills the picture. Dusty nipples taut and straining the heavy, peachy globes are cushioned in the palms of delicate, feminine hands. Whoever the owner is, her face isn’t in the interest of the sender.

  I check the sender.

  Gawain this time. Earlier it had been Bors.

  Other members of the brotherhood of killers.

  Where ever Arthur has Gawain doing business, he’s obviously enjoying himself and taking it easy. With a quick click, I send him an image of my middle finger. I’m used to their texts. We’re in an ongoing battle to find the perfect pair of tits. Man whore, womanizer Gawain never finds it difficult to charm the ladies into his bed. Bors is the opposite. Tall and imposing, the quiet bear of a man wears a permanent scowl. That, however, doesn’t stop some women trying to tame him.

  Thumb brushing the red metal horn charm hanging from the end of my phone, a churning sense of foreboding coils in my belly. I’ve always been intuitive. Had an instinct for something I’ve never been able to explain. Tonight, it’s gnawing at me. I stroke the cornetto a second time. An Italian talisman to ward off evil and to bring luck, it’s a gift from someone I am never without.

  Movement catches my eye below. Six PM. Just like clockwork. Exhaling in one long go, I stub the cigarette out before slipping the butt back into the pocket of my jacket with my phone. A good hitman doesn’t leave evidence. I’m never sloppy when it comes to work. I have a reputation to protect after all. It’s why my price is high. If they want the best, they pay through the nose for it.

  Lying prone, I curl my hands around my weapon as I maneuver into position. I watch my mark step from a car through the lens of my sniper rifle, her blonde hair falling in soft layers around her shoulders. Facing away from me, she ducks her head back into the vehicle to talk to the drive
r.

  Her lover.

  This bitch won’t be breathing for much longer. Before she even hits the sidewalk, I’ll be up and, on my way. There’s a shower, a bottle of Jack, and a hotel bed calling my name tonight, then tomorrow morning, I’ll be on a plane home to New Orleans. That son of a bitch I call a boss will have more work lined up for me. He knows I get tired of sitting on my arse waiting around. Booze and whores can only amuse you for so long.

  Finger poised on the trigger, I wait, crosshairs locked on the target. She has the right hair and physique, but I need a positive ID on her face. I’ve never fucked a hit up, and I’m not about to make this my first. Reputation is everything, along with the strength of my loyalty.

  She turns abruptly, and the street lamp illuminates her perfectly. My insides clench. The photo in my pocket is nothing like the features of the woman I’ve been tasked to kill. Similarities, yes, but there’s enough subtle difference to let me know this isn’t the one I’ve been paid to eliminate. Not the same woman I’ve been tailing for a week, night and day. A decoy?

  She hovers, wrapped in the warmth of her designer jacket with an air of nervousness standing out in the open beside the car. Still, edgy, a tremor runs through her slender form. A gazelle scenting a predator close by and in the second, I know I’ve been set up.

  “Fuck.”

  Rifle in hand, I rise snatching up my backpack and am on my feet in record time.

  Instinct takes over.

  I need to get off the goddamn roof. A frisson of panic is crushed by experience and training. I’ve been in worse situations. That doesn’t mean this won’t turn into even more of a cluster fuck.

  Sprinting to the metal door. I tug it gently open. The sound of heavy footsteps echo on the stairs. Voices hushed and low, I detect the sound of Russian being spoken. Did the fuckers think they could catch me unaware?

  I’ve been betrayed.

  Sold out.

  No one knows I’m here, only Arthur as far as I’m aware. I trust the bastard with my life. I’ve bled for him, murdered and maimed under his name. He wouldn’t double cross me.

  Do we have a mole or was the information we were given false? The knowledge sears me with rage, but I don’t have time to dwell on who the mother fucker might be. What I do know is when I find out, they’re dead. Nothing will stop me getting my hands on them. Not the boss or any other member of Cavalieri della morte.

  Back tracking, I head to the edge of the building. There’s no fire escape, but a drop to a balcony ten feet or so away. I’m agile and fit enough, trained for such situations. I don’t give myself time to think. Dropping, I land hard. Pain reverberates up my legs and spine, but I’m lucky enough not to break anything. Adrenaline keeps me moving, flooding my veins and deadening me to any discomfort. Fast and efficient, I strip down my rifle into smaller parts, fitting it into my backpack to make it less conspicuous. A handgun is easier to hide. Tugging the pistol from my shoulder holster, I keep it handy. I’ve no doubt my assailants are armed. How long have they had eyes on me? The whole goddamn week, or just tonight?

  The room is shrouded in darkness. It’s a relief to find the balcony door unlocked. Slipping inside, I cross the room, heading for the door. Someone shifts in the bed to my right. All I can make out in the dark is an outlined form hidden beneath the blankets. I hope to fuck they don’t wake up. If they do, I’ll have to put a bullet in their head, and I hate wasting ammo. Making it to the door with a stealthy tread, I peer through the eyehole. Beyond the stylish corridor or what I can see of it lays empty. Staying where I am isn’t doable. The poor arsehole asleep might not have woken up, yet, but I only have so long before they do.

  Inching the lock round, I click it open. The murmur of voices greets me when I step out to my left.

  Russian again. Who are these bastards?

  Silent as a ghost, I prowl toward the exit that leads to the stairs. The elevator would be suicide. If they’re still searching for me on the roof, I have a better chance at escaping the way they came up.

  Halting at the door, my fingers inch the handle ’round. It opens without sound, and I’m through the threshold in a heartbeat.

  Stilling, I listen to the silence. I’m not stupid enough to relax. Anything can be deceiving, and with my arse on the line, I won’t breathe easily until I’m clear of this place. Backpack hooked over my shoulder, I descend the steps on light feet. Gun raised, I scan each stairwell cautiously. I don’t like this. Some sixth sense has my skin prickling on the back of my neck. A seasoned hunter sensing danger.

  A subtle sound from above is my only warning. Dropping between the stairwells a figure plummets toward me. Dodging, I side step before he can land on my back.

  Unfazed from his jump, he comes at me with a nasty looking blade. Blocking his arm with my solid forearm, it’s a struggle for supremacy. His menacing eyes burn into mine with the same soulless emptiness I see every time I glance in a mirror. Movements quick, precise, his grasp of martial arts is just as honed and deadly as my own. We trade a rapid succession of blows, both searching for weakness. Another male dashes down the steps with a gun. I’m careful to keep the one I’m battling with between us. I’m not about to give him a clean shot. One to the head and it’s game over.

  They’re good. Too good. Mercs or assassins like myself. Killers. This smells even more like a set up. Am I the only one compromised, or are the other members of the group at risk? My concentration slips at the thought. My assailant takes advantage, swinging his arm free.

  Pain erupts red hot through my side. I don’t need to look down to recognize I’ve been slashed. I’ve been on the receiving end of a knife more than once in my life.

  Grunting, I smash my forehead into his. He staggers enough sideways for me to raise my gun. I’m exposed, but so is the other fucker. One quick squeeze, a millisecond faster than him, and there’s a neat little hole between his eyes. Ignoring the corpse as it hits the steps, I send a second one through the neck of his companion. Blood explodes through the other side, decorating the smart white wall. Shock ripples over his expression. Folding down to his knees, his hand jerks up to cover the wound. The wheeze that leaves him brings crimson bubbling from his lips. Pushing the barrel of my gun into his chest, I send another straight through his heart. Jolted backward with the force, he collapses to lay broken on the steps. Casting a quick glance up and down I check for more assailants.

  I’m lucky the hotel doesn’t have security camera here. I’ve compromised my position. The others will be on me faster than flies on shit. Stowing my gun in its holster, I crouch, doing a quick search through his jacket. Nothing. Cash but no I.D.

  The wound in my side throbs. Blood soaks my hand when I touch it, and although I know from experience it isn’t serious, it’s going to be a problem. Leaving the corpses in a puddle of their own thickening blood, I jog down the rest of the stairs to reach the ground floor. Wasting too much time, the bodies will be discovered, and my escape route will be blocked. I need to get out now. Tugging the side of my leather jacket closed, I conceal my bloodied shirt; my other hand remains glued to the hidden hilt of my gun where it’s tucked in the waistband of my jeans.

  Releasing a breath, I shake off my tension. If I’m lucky, there will be enough people around to keep me unnoticed. Swinging the door open, I step out into the lobby. Music is playing softly from discreetly placed speakers. Italians chattering merge with the other languages of the individuals milling around. A quick sweep and I don’t see any suspicious goons loitering. Are the idiots all still on the roof? Going room to room? Perhaps they’re not as professional as I first thought.

  Making a beeline for the front doors, the concierge barely spares me a glance. His voice is animated and pleasant as he talks to some rich guests. I’m just another tourist going about their evening to anyone who’s looking. An English man on holiday. Keeping my steps fast but not too conspicuous, I cross the space, pushing my way through the glass rotating doors. The noise of the busy street crashes over me
, cars, voices. Breathing in a lung full of night air, it’s laced with the scent of food and city smells. The Russians will be at my heels, and I need to keep moving. Using a bus or the metro, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb in my condition. I don’t need the Italian authorities on my tail. Hunting ’round, my attention latches onto the car parked up on the street. A woman alone sits on the driver’s side, the engine still running. She’s riffling through a handbag. A curtain of long brown hair shields her from view. Perfect.

  Evelyn

  Concentrating on the contents of my overstuffed purse, I sift through looking for the printed document. Beyond the confines of the vehicle, I’m aware of the cold winter Mediterranean night and the people busy on the street.

  I can barely contain my exhilaration. Rome. I’m in Rome, Italy!

  Getting away from my mundane life for a week is a dream come true. A chance to explore the world outside the bubble I live in. After studying so long to become a veterinarian, it’s time for me to have some fun.

  I’ve always worked hard. Been a grade A student and devoted daughter to my parents. Never taken drugs or partied with my friends. My chosen career has been my focus.

  Winning this all-inclusive trip is my chance to be free.