The Suicide King

by Kristi Belcamino

  But their biggest mistake had been removing the gag. She’d lured one of the men over by moaning and groaning and weeping as if she were in agony.

  Concerned, one of the men had finally stood up. “See what her problem is,” another one said.

  The man untied the scarf around her head, and she spit out the wad of fabric that had been stuffed in there.

  As soon as she did, she whispered something urgently.

  The man tilted his head, trying to hear what she was saying.

  She whispered again. Instinctively, he leaned down closer to where she sat on the floor. She lunged up and bit off his ear. Blood gushed and he howled. He swung for her in pain and sent her head smacking against the wall, but she recovered enough to tuck her legs through her bound hands and bring them to the front of her while the other three men jumped up from the table in astonishment.

  Although her wrists were bound together with zip ties, she’d managed to retrieve the dagger from its holster while she’d sat on the ground with her legs tucked to the side. It was clenched in one fist..

  She charged for the nearest man. The tip of the dagger slid smoothly into the underside of the second man’s jaw, piercing the back of his skull.

  He fell away—dead instantly.

  The third and fourth men turned to flee. Eva flung her body at them, managing to send one careering into the wall where she plunged the dagger into his eye. When she turned, ready for an attack, the room was empty. The fourth man had fled, not interested in sticking around to fight.

  Using her dagger, she sliced the zip ties binding her wrist. She retrieved a set of car keys in one hand and her purse with her gun off the table and raced out into the hall. She kept close to the wall as she ran through the house. It was nearly dawn, so the house was quiet, but still she was cautious, knowing it was prudent to still expect the fourth man, coward though he may be, to jump out of a doorway and try to play hero.

  The foyer of the mansion was lit with the sparkling lights of a dimmed chandelier dangling from the twenty-foot high domed ceiling. Eva was nearly to the front door when she saw a figure in the shadows holding a shot gun. She fired without hesitation. He fell before he could squeeze off a shot. She didn’t wait to see if the shot had awakened any of the mansion’s guests.

  In the driveway, she clicked the alarm fob until a small sedan’s lights flashed.

  Within ten minutes, she’d exchanged the sedan for her Jeep.

  Reaching into the glove compartment, Eva extracted one of three disposable phones she had stashed there.

  Francesca spoke as soon as the call was connected.

  “Alicia, Diana, Antonia, and Noemi are already in Sicily.”

  “Where are they?” Eva wanted to argue that they weren’t ready, but she had to admit they were as ready as they’d ever be. And at least two of the women were sharpshooters.

  “They are waiting two miles away from your location at the cemetery. You’re going to need backup.”

  Eva wanted to argue, but didn’t. It was time her soldiers did what they’d been trained to do.

  “Tell them I’ll be there in five.”

  Fifteen minutes later, with the women in her car, Eva headed toward the cave where she’d found Chiara.

  43

  Turricci dialed his housekeeper on the landline.

  “Are the perimeter doors secure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Only once she’d reassured him did Turricci unlock his study door and head straight to his bedroom. Once safely locked inside his master suite, he flipped open his laptop and reviewed security footage. He did not have a gate blocking his driveway, so anybody could drive right up to his house. He reviewed the footage of the front of the house for the past hour. Not a single vehicle had entered his driveway nor slowed while passing from the main road.

  He felt the tension leave his body. He was safe. For now. She probably didn’t know where he lived. No guarantee.

  His cell phone rang. It was his man from the ball.

  “I was wrong. She killed four. His body was just found by the front door. We didn’t see the body at first. He was behind some bushes.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “No idea.”

  Turricci shot another glance at the security footage. She’d killed four of his men. What if one of them had been forced to disclose his address? He decided to go back further in searching the footage.

  “Call me immediately with any more information.”

  He hung up and reviewed the camera footage from the back of his home which was surrounded by a tall electric fence. Again, nothing of import. After reviewing all footage for the past three hours, he finally relaxed.

  His cell phone rang again. He cringed at hearing the noise. The calls had been an onslaught of bad news. He picked up and barked. “What now?” in Italian.

  “It’s Cosimo. The girl. She is close to waking.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  44

  Eva wasn’t fooled by the empty clearing at the end of the dirt road leading to the cave.

  Slowing her Range Rover to a crawl, her head swiveled from side to side as she looked for an ambush. She knew there were armed men somewhere. Alicia slowed down behind her in her own vehicle. Eva had given her a walkie talkie so they could communicate without cell phones. Just in case one was tapped.

  Eva and the other women were in the armored Range Rover. She hated having Alicia alone, but they needed both vehicles.

  “Alicia?” Eva said into the open walkie talkie.

  “What is it?”

  “Be alert. They may be hiding.”

  Although she didn’t want to, she’d have to keep driving closer to the cave, counting on her vehicle’s armored body and bulletproof glass to protect them.

  With this resolve, she punched the gas and zoomed down the dirt road, fishtailing a little on the curves, anticipating gunfire which never came. She came to a skidding halt in the clearing close to the cliff’s edge with Alicia’s vehicle close behind. Just beyond lay the stairs leading to the secluded cave.

  When the dust cleared, she saw the road behind her was still empty.

  She didn’t know if this was a good or bad sign.

  What if Gia had been taken somewhere else? Or worse, what if whatever was going to happen to Gia was long over and Gia’s body was left inside to rot.

  Grabbing her gun, Eva got out of her Range Rover with all four of her guerriere at her heels. She didn’t need to speak. They fell into line automatically. Alicia and Noemi held their guns in front of them at the ready. The other two women, Diana and Antonia, held knives and longswords.

  Heart pounding, Eva led the other women down the stairs, keeping an eye on the small ledge of the cave below her. She couldn’t help but feel the imaginary sting of bullets entering her body as she made her way down, feeling incredibly vulnerable. She kept pressed to the side of the cliff as she made her way toward the cave entrance.

  45

  When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by a dim blue-gray light and bone-shuddering cold. My fingers and toes were numb. I was shaking uncontrollably and my teeth chattered. I still had on my Armani dress but my shoes were gone.

  I tried to move my hands, but I was shackled by cuffs pounded into the stone below me. My ankles were also cuffed. I was surrounded by stone walls. I twisted my head to look around, but the movement made me nauseous. I arched my neck and beyond my feet was blue sky and the sea. I was in a cave. A cold, dank, dark, cave.

  “Help!” I screamed, my voice hoarse. The shriek echoed. I was alone. Once my voice ricocheted and then died, the only other sound was the sea, which lapped at my feet. As soon as I thought this, I realized that the tide could be out. I looked around in horror, searching the rock around me for wet spots. I didn’t see any and put my head back down. The cave looked dry. It appeared to be above sea level.

  I heard someone clear his throat behind me, and my skin prickled in fear. I hadn’t seen anyone back there, but t
here were pockets of shadow outside my peripheral vision.

  I smelled smoke from a cigarette. The smell brought me right back to the night on the balcony when I was smoking while Bobby was gunned down below me.

  The events at the party house came back to me. They had called the movie star man at the ball “Turricci.” And I’d clearly been drugged. Even though I was still groggy, I looked around for some possible means of escape. I was at a loss. I tugged at my shackles but they didn’t budge. My fuzzy mind raced. I had to escape.

  For a long time, I waited, tensed for the person behind me to say or do something, but nothing happened. Eventually, I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. It must have been some residual effect of whatever they had drugged me with the night before. I sank into blessed nothingness.

  I woke coughing and blinking, to voices. The cave was no longer dark, but dimly lit with candles. I lifted my head and saw shapes outlined in the cave opening. Three men. They spoke Italian. They were all smoking. The smoke filled the cave and made me cough more.

  One of the figures drew closer. I lay my head back down. He stood over me. He had slicked-back, greasy hair and long sideburns. He saw that I was awake and said something in Italian. He strode over to where the other men stood, silhouetted against the brightness of the sky beyond. A lithe figure appeared from one side and headed my way.

  As he got closer, I saw it was the man they had called Turricci. The same name as the man I had killed.

  For the first time, I saw him up close, without his sunglasses or a mask.

  He had chiseled cheekbones and brilliant green eyes that stood out against his olive skin.

  He was carrying something. A longsword. My eyes widened, and my mouth grew dry. He lifted it and moved toward my face. I froze. If I jerked away I would impale myself. With the faintest touch, the tip of the sword touched the scar on my cheek.

  “Who did this to you?”

  I glared at him. His green eyes were dead. There wasn’t the slightest hint of warmth.

  He moved the sword to the other cheek.

  “Maybe you need a matching one on this side too.” He pressed the tip onto my cheek. I felt the prick and then the sword was at my neck.

  “What do you want?” I asked. It sounded childish, and I instantly regretted my words. I squinted up at his face. That’s when I realized why he had seemed familiar.

  I’d seen a picture of him before. On the other Turricci’s yacht when I was last in Sicily. In addition, I realized with shock that he looked like the woman who had died in my arms on the San Francisco sidewalk. The same green eyes. I thought back to my conversation with my mother’s guardian. He hadn’t actually said he didn’t have children. He’d said I was the only flesh-and-blood child he had.

  “Your sister tried to kill me in San Francisco.” It was a guess, but I knew I was right.

  He shrugged. “My twin is impetuous. She does not think before she acts.”

  His twin. My heart thudded. He was speaking about her in the present tense.

  “You’re both adopted.”

  He didn’t answer. I spoke, almost to myself, mumbling. It was starting to make sense, slowly molding into something that had shape and substance.

  I was the target at the wedding reception.

  “Turricci left everything to me. Instead of you. You and your sister. Because he thought I was blood.”

  In Italy, being bound by blood was sacred. I remembered some of Turricci’s dying words to me, before he found out I wasn’t his daughter: “Now I’ve connected with my own flesh and blood, my own child. I will not die alone. Il sangue non è acqua.” Blood is thicker than water.

  I stared at the man, watching for some reaction, some acknowledgment that what I was saying was the truth. But he ignored me. His eyes were cold.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked again, even though I knew the answer. It was pretty damn obvious at this point. I knew all about vendettas and family loyalty.

  “Your blood.”

  “Why?” I tried to sound fierce, but my voice wobbled. I wanted to know how much he knew.

  “Of course, you don’t know. It is not for your sins. It is to pay for your family’s sins.”

  It had to be the inheritance.

  “I don’t want his money. I don’t want anything he left me. None of it.” I spit the words out.

  He scoffed. “To my sister, that mattered. I don’t need my father’s money.” He looked down for a second. “My sister didn’t either. I was going to take care of her. She would have had everything she ever wanted or needed.”

  My mouth grew dry again hearing him mention his sister. At least this time he referred to her in the past tense. He knew she was dead.

  “I didn’t know who she was,” I said. “I tried to make her last seconds comfortable.” An image came back to me: stroking her hair, half of her head missing.

  He prodded me with the sword, running it along my jaw.

  I narrowed my eyes. “But if I had known she died trying to kill me, I would’ve made her death…less pleasant.”

  His face remained blank, expressionless. But then he sighed, pulling the sword away from my cheek.

  “Because you made my sister’s last moments peaceful, I will make your own death quick,” he said. “But it must be painful.”

  I held my breath.

  “I must have something to send as proof of your death. It will be your head, I’m afraid.”

  I didn’t understand who would want proof of my death. I thought I’d found the person behind all of this, but was I wrong? My brain still felt fuzzy from my concussion and whatever he’d drugged me with. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the meaning of his words. Instead, I needed to concentrate on getting free. The whys and hows could be answered later. But I still had to ask.

  “Who?”

  He cocked his head.

  “Who wants proof of my death?”

  “She does not want it, but she shall have it.”

  “Who?” He had said “she.” I knew the answer before he spoke.

  “The Queen of Spades.”

  He noticed my frown.

  “You are her only blood relative.”

  Before I could wrap my mind around that, he was beside me and in one fluid motion, ran the sword from my neck to my waist, slicing open my dress. The silky folds fell to my sides.

  “You are very cold,” he said. “But in death you will know true cold.”

  He let the sword clatter to the cave floor and unbuckled his pants. He then began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes growing hooded, not leaving my bare chest. The light from a candle flickered behind him, outlining his form in a faint red. My nightmare was coming true.

  Every fiber of my being wanted to spit and fight and kick him, but the cuffs made any movement besides lifting my head and hips nearly impossible. I could use my hips and head, but that would require drawing him in closer. And my teeth. They were a weapon that could inflict a lot of damage.

  I closed my eyes and whispered, low enough that I knew he couldn’t hear. “Why don’t you come closer, motherfucker. You’ll wish you’d killed me when you first saw me.”

  For a split second, I worried I’d whispered too loud, but he leaned in a bit.

  “What is that?”

  He leaned down even more. He still wasn’t close enough. I stared into his eyes. He was wriggling one arm out of a sleeve when someone at the cave entrance said something in Italian and there were the sounds of a scuffle. I heard murmuring and groans, but I couldn’t see what was going on. His eyes shifted toward the cave door, and before I could react, he’d scooped the sword into his hands and was racing toward the back of the cave.

  I arched my neck and saw him disappear behind a wall of stone. A blur of black zipped past me.

  The man with the sideburns was above me, pointing a gun at my head and saying something in Italian. But then his eyes grew wide. He slumped to his knees. The black hilt of a knife stuck out of his ribcage.

 
Fear coursed through me. Lifting my head, I saw three figures again. This time, they were shapely. Women.

  One stood in the middle with long flowing hair. I couldn’t make out any of their features; They were silhouetted against the bright blue sky and sea beyond.

  The woman in the middle said something in a low voice that I couldn’t understand. Within seconds, the two other women were at my side, using bolt cutters to free my ankles and wrists from the shackles. And then they were gone.

  The bodies of three men lay around me, sprawled in unnatural positions. All had been stabbed and had knife wounds to their heads and chests. One man’s neck was sliced from side to side.

  A dark bundle lay near the entrance to the cave. I scooped up the gun that had fallen from the dead man’s hands, pulled myself up on trembling legs, and went to investigate the bundle. It was a black leather backpack. A pair of knee-high boots sat beside it.

  Reaching my hand inside, I felt clothing. I fished out a pair of thick, black leggings, a long sleeve black shirt, and some socks. There was more inside the backpack, but first things first. I was freezing, so I ripped off my shredded shirt. As I pulled the shirt over my head, I froze. I caught a whiff of something familiar, but before I could identify it, it was gone. Even when I held the shirt up to my nose, I could no longer smell it.

  I tugged on the leggings, socks, and boots.

  I rummaged in the backpack and felt more inside, so I started taking it out in handfuls: a bottle of water, a bag of dried fruit and nuts, a cell phone. And a map. That looked like it led to a cemetery. And another one that led to a road further north and said 7 p.m. circled in red.

  I held the pack upside down to make sure nothing else was inside. A stack of euros bound by a ribbon fell out with a thud. A car key clattered onto the rocks.

  I stared at the objects on the cave floor. At the clues left for me.

  Clothing. Food. Water. Money. A throw away phone. A key.

  I’d been afraid to admit it, but the truth was right there. The Queen of Spades had saved me.