The Suicide King

by Kristi Belcamino

  Everyone was dressed in dark clothes, and those on the furniture moved oddly. It took me a few minutes to understand what I was seeing. While some people stood, huddled in groups holding long-stemmed wine glasses while chatting and drinking, those on the furniture groped one another or were full on having sex. I had been staring at what looked like a deformed, overly tall person when I realized it was a seated woman with her dress up around her waist and a man’s head pressed between her legs.

  Before I could react, an arm snaked around my waist. I drew back and, at the last second, suppressed the urge to chop at the man’s carotid artery. The blade of my hand paused in midair a few inches away from his neck. I lowered it. I had to figure out what was going on first.

  “What the fuck kind of party is this?” I said.

  The man, who looked to be in his sixties, also wore a mask over his eyes. And a tuxedo.

  “You do not know?” He sounded surprised.

  “No. Why are you surprised?”

  “One of our rules is that every guest has, ahem, agreed to the proceedings that take place here. Our host must have neglected to obtain your agreement. My apologies for inappropriately accosting you.” He made a deep bow.

  I relaxed. The dude had only put his arm around my waist. He was lucky. Anything more than that and he would’ve been on the ground.

  A waiter appeared at my side. He handed the man a glass of something clear and handed me a tumbler of amber liquid. I sniffed. Bourbon. Our “host” not only knew my dress size and shoe size, but apparently also my drink of choice. I took it without looking at the waiter and tossed it back.

  “Who’s hosting this shindig?” I asked the man in the tuxedo.

  “We remain anonymous in our group. No names. No faces. We pay a high premium for that privacy. It is better that way.”

  “Of course it is.” I tilted my glass toward him in a toast. To each his own, I guess.

  The man gave me another bow and disappeared back into the crowd, off to look for someone DTF, I guessed. I pressed my back against the black velvet wall so nobody could sneak up and surprise me again while I took in the scene.

  I eyed the dark figures, waiting for someone to approach me. Someone wanted me there. Someone had invited me. A few heads turned my way in the dark, but nobody approached. I was relieved but also impatient. I began to wander the perimeter of the room, giving the people having sex on chairs and couches a wide berth. For a second I felt woozy and dizzy and confused in the dark. A little disoriented. A side effect of my slight concussion from the car crash probably. The dizziness increased, so I stopped near a small table with flowers. As I got closer, I saw they were bouquets of black and red roses.

  A man materialized at my elbow. Something about him was extraordinarily familiar. At the same time, that knowledge struck a chord of fear in me. However I knew him, it was not in a pleasant circumstance. At the moment I realized this, my vision blurred, and the dizzy feeling made it hard to stand. Before I knew it, the tumbler I was holding clattered to the floor.

  “Oh dear,” the man said. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  I couldn’t see who he was speaking to, but two dark figures approached me.

  “I’m afraid our guest is feeling ill. Federico, will you help me get her to the library?”

  “Si, Signore Turricci.”

  At hearing the man’s name, I flailed my arms and legs in an attempt to get away, but discovered I had zero control of my body. I felt sluggish and as if my limbs weighed a thousand pounds. I tried to focus, but my vision was distorted. I struggled against the overwhelming feeling of ennui, trying to escape, but I was helpless. I felt the tiniest prick at the back of my arm, where the man was holding me firmly, and I knew I’d lost. Still, for a split second, I tried to fight the blackness closing in on my vision.

  39

  Dusk had fallen by the time Eva’s Range Rover emerged from the ferry and onto Sicilian soil. Francesca texted her shortly after.

  “Gia was in town again. With Rafael’s boy.”

  Eva scrunched up her face. “What was she doing?”

  “Asking about you.”

  “Can you find her and stop her? Hold her until I get back?”

  “She’s gone.”

  Again.

  Eva would deal with Turricci and then concentrate on finding Gia. And then she would head to Mexico to take on the cartel.

  As she had calculated, from the ferry landing it only took twenty minutes to get to the small dirt road where she would park before going the rest of the way on foot.

  Her Range Rover fit neatly on the dirt shoulder of the road. She armed its turbo-charged alarm system and set off with her go bag for the south side of the mansion.

  As soon as she hit the field, the sky darkened. She pulled on the night vision goggles and began to lightly jog.

  When she reached the wall, she stopped and listened. She heard music and voices in the distance but nothing close by.

  She quickly strapped on the climbing gloves and affixed the spike attachments to her boots and began to scale the wall. She poked her head up so her eyes could rise above the concrete. A beautifully lit garden scene lay before her. The gazebo was strung with fairy lights, and the path beyond was lined with paper bags containing flickering candles.

  Eva pulled herself up a little further. She reached tentatively to feel the top of the wall and drew her hand back quickly when she felt something sharp. Pulling her chin up, she saw that the top of the wall was covered in broken shards of glass. They’d been embedded into the concrete surface. She’d planned for it. She reached into the go bag slung on her back and removed a thick piece of burlap that she draped over the wall.

  Gripping tightly with her spiked gloves, she walked her feet up until they met her hands and she was crouching against the side of the wall. She only had one more fluid move, throwing one leg over the wall. Before throwing her leg over the wall, she paused again to listen. She heard nothing other than the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks in the distance and the distant murmur of music and voices. Otherwise, the night was quiet.

  She heaved her legs and body over the wall, holding on with her spiked-gloved hands until she was hanging and could drop easily to the ground. She shed her clothes and climbing gear, yanked the silky dress over her head, and slipped on the sandals. She tucked the bag of her belongings into a bush, grabbed her clutch, heavy with her Sig Sauer, and headed for the mansion.

  Her walk through the garden was uneventful save running into a couple groping one another. They looked up as she approached. Eva kept her stride, noting them with a polite nod.

  At the back of the mansion, several French doors were thrown open to the night. The interior was softly lit. Stepping inside, a man in a black suit nodded at her but didn’t seem unduly interested. She’d passed the first test. Keeping her head high and throwing back her shoulders as if she owned the place, Eva continued. Once inside, she could see that small fairy lights lined a black carpet, leading her through the darkened house. She followed the lights past alcoves lit with marble statues of couples entangled in passionate embraces until the lights and rug stopped at a massive oak door. Another man in a black suit stood to the side.

  He reached over and opened the door for Eva. As it swung open she felt a firm grip on her arm.

  “Invitation?”

  She broke free of his grip and turned, “I need your restroom immediately.”

  Eva hoped her authoritative tone would shake his suspicion. But then she saw three other men in black suits heading her way from different directions. Game over.

  She ducked into the closest room. She heard footsteps scurrying behind her as the door closed. She’d stepped into a tiny hall with only two other doors. The one at the end was her best bet, but when the door began to open behind her, she turned the knob of the first door and stepped inside the darkness, fumbling for her clutch to retrieve her gun.

  Before she could, she felt the cold press of metal on her neck. />
  “Non muoverti.” Don’t move.

  She was about to drop kick the gunman when the door swung open. She was now face-to-face with a second gun, this one pressed up against her nose.

  40

  Antonio Turricci watched his men load Gia Santella into the backseat of his Lancia. Her limp body was sensual, but unlike Chiara, he felt no lust for her. His hatred was too strong. She had taken everything away from him. His fantasy wasn’t to fuck her. Instead he wanted to watch her writhe in pain as he tortured her. And later, his biggest dream would be fulfilled in delivering the young woman’s head to her aunt, the Queen of Spades.

  Moments after she’d been loaded into the back of his Lancia, he drove out of the underground garage and, with an SUV full of his men following, headed for the cave.

  They were nearly there when his cell phone rang.

  “We have the Queen of Spades,” the man shouted.

  It was his man in charge at the mansion where the ball was being held.

  “Explain.”

  “She was trying to sneak into the ball. We caught her. She is restrained. She had a gun in her little bag.”

  Turricci swerved the Lancia over to the shoulder in a cloud of dirt. The SUV behind him followed. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing in the backseat at Gia’s still body.

  For a second, he was tempted to turn around and go back to the ball. The chance to see Eva Santella was nearly irresistible. He could bring Gia back and cut off her head right in front of Eva. It would be exquisite. Better than he could have possibly hoped it to be.

  But the mansion was full of some of his richest benefactors. This ball was an annual affair that not only earned him millions but also—and even more valuable—garnered him leverage over some of the richest and most powerful men and women in Europe. He catered to their every perversion. And he kept their darkest secrets. They owed him and they feared him and they respected him. He would not ruin their annual fun by undertaking two high-profile murders at the mansion.

  Instead, he would have them bring Eva to him.

  “Drug her. And as soon as the guests retire, bring her to me. In the meantime, be sure she does nothing to disrupt our guests. This is their night.”

  “We have her in a back room. She is gagged and bound. She will be no problem for us.”

  Turricci thought the man was a fool to think this, but he kept that opinion to himself. He didn’t want to underestimate the Queen of Spades. He would tell them to use some of the knock-out drug that had been put into Gia’s drink. That way he would be taking no chances in transporting Eva Santella.

  “Just do as I say,” he said and hung up.

  Once Gia had been strapped down on the stone slab inside the mouth of the cave, Turricci approached his lieutenant.

  “Why is she still unconscious?”

  The man squirmed. Turricci tilted his head. “You can tell me the truth, Cosimo. You know when you tell me the truth nothing bad will happen to you.”

  He spoke to his men as if they were children, but he did so because essentially that’s what most of them were. Big, old, ugly brutes with the brains of teenagers.

  Cosimo cleared his throat. “She may have been given too large a dose,” he said in Italian.

  Turricci swore. The man flinched. Turricci gave a soft slap to the man’s shoulder. “Good boy. Your honesty is appreciated.”

  At the same time, Turricci made a mental note to get rid of Cosimo once this operation was over.

  He called his men at the ball. “How is it?”

  They said Eva was as docile as a baby lamb. She was not moving or fighting, and might possibly even be sleeping. The report made Turricci inexplicably nervous, but there was nothing he could do about it from afar. “How is the ball?”

  “In full swing. We just got a full report. The guests have taken over every corner of the house. There is fucking on every counter, every stairway, every surface you can imagine, sir.”

  Turricci closed his eyes. It was a terrible time to try to move Eva. He’d wait two more hours until the partygoers had grown sleepy and moved into the bedrooms. They’d set up several large rooms with numerous beds, and also there were bedrooms. At some point, most would retire to a room with a bed. That’s how it had always worked during previous balls.

  Turricci paced the ice-cold cave for another hour before he spoke to Cosimo again. The girl was still unconscious. He was tired, dizzy from lack of sleep, and very hungry. Even though the cave interior was cold, he was perspiring. His silk shirt now had stains under the arms, something he found repulsive. The thought of a quick nap, a small meal, and warm shower was irresistible. His home was five miles away. He could do all this and be back, refreshed, when Gia woke up.

  “I am returning to my home. Call me the second she wakes.”

  Then he turned to Giacomo and Christopher. “The men back at the ball need your help transporting a very special guest to our humble cave. Come with me to my car. I have a vial that should make transport easier. Only one dropper in a glass of water, and she’ll sleep like a baby.”

  It was nearly dawn, and all the partygoers would soon be ready for bed. His men could then transport Eva easily to the cave. After his nap and shower and food, he’d be ready to greet her and see her face when he killed Gia in front of her.

  41

  The night could not have gone any better than it had.

  Turricci sat in his study overlooking the sea and lit a cigar. The warmth of the dark wood and hardbound books on the shelves made him feel like a real man. Like an educated, wealthy, sophisticated man. Like his father once had been. If only his father were still alive to see him in this position. But he had been cut down too young by the bitch who would die shortly after sunrise. Nearly worse than his father’s untimely death was his smeared reputation.

  Because he’d basically thrust himself on a fireplace poker that Gia Santella had been holding, and because she was the niece of the Queen of Spades, some people in Sicily had the balls to besmirch his father’s honor by dubbing him the Suicide King.

  It was one reason that both the Queen of Spades and her niece would die if it was the last thing he did. He would avenge his father’s death and make sure his family’s reputation remained intact.

  He could not wait.

  With some food in his stomach and after a quick nap and a long, hot shower, he felt ready to take on the world.

  Gia Santella would be dead soon.

  And she’d led his most elusive enemy right into his hands—her infamous aunt.

  For a second, a surge of anxiety soared through him. For so long, he had lived only for this vendetta. And soon it would be over. It was bittersweet to think about it.

  Shaking away the mournful mood, he instead imagined his new life. He would indulge every pleasure available to man to celebrate. And maybe after that, he would take a small vacation. Maybe go visit Morocco. He’d heard the combination of opium and sultry women was unbeatable. He’d look up his friend, Massimo, and ask the man to show him around.

  His cell phone rang.

  “She escaped.”

  His blood pressure soared. It was impossible.

  “How?”

  “She killed three men.”

  Jesus Christ.

  “Where is she now?”

  The man didn’t answer

  “Answer me”

  “We don’t know.”

  Turricci instantly jerked his head toward the windows. He was three stories up. Then he reached for the door of his study and locked it before moving swiftly to his desk drawer and taking out a Desert Eagle .50. Holding the heavy firearm was not as reassuring as he’d hoped.

  A thin trickle of sweat dripped down his temple.

  He knew without a doubt she was coming for him. Maybe not right this moment. Maybe not even this night or this week. But she was coming for him.

  As if to confirm this, his phone dinged. It was a text message from one of his dead guards.

  With his heart in
his throat, he opened the text, prepared to see something gruesome. Instead it was a close-up picture of a playing card placed on a burly chest. The Queen of Spades.

  He swallowed.

  Not that he’d needed it, but here was the proof:

  She was coming for him.

  42

  Eva stepped over the dead bodies at her feet and headed for the door holding the car keys she’d found on one of the dead guys.

  The door to the room they’d held her in was unlocked. The doorknob turned easily under her fingers.

  They’d obviously never suspected she could overpower four of them at once. At least not with her hands bound behind her back. They’d made a mistake by keeping her feet unbound. They should have just used zip ties on her ankles and carried her instead of letting her walk to this back room.

  Or, had they been smart enough to strip her, they might have found the dagger strapped to a thigh holster under her dress.

  The four had set down their weapons on a table and were playing cards.

  Their dialect made it difficult to understand the conversation, but she was able to get the gist of it—they were told to keep her captive until more men came and then they would transport her to “la grotta.” The cave.

  When this was said, the youngest looking man of the bunch glanced her way. His face was pale. He was new. Eva made a mental note. He would be the Achilles heel of the bunch.

  They’d also made the mistake of saying that it was very important not to arouse the suspicion of the other guests with gunfire. If anything, they discussed among themselves, they should beat her up rather than shoot her dead.

  Eva knew then she would escape. If they weren’t willing to kill her, she would win this battle.

  The men were essentially dead before they even dealt the first card. They just didn’t know it yet. So many mistakes.