There were snickers and then, with relief, Francesca heard chairs scrape back as they rose to follow.
While the others lined up behind her and her husband, Francesca flung open the door to the room. At first only she and her husband stood in the doorway, taking in the scene.
Soft, sexy Latin music filtered out. Eva sat propped against a mass of pillows on the bed. She wore a blood red ball gown that was spread out in massive puffs around her. Her black eyes were lined with kohl. Her breasts nearly spilled out of the gown’s deep-cut neckline. Ten velvet chairs were lined up at the foot of the bed. Mirrors had been propped up against the other three walls. Red rose petals were scattered on the floor. Every available surface was covered with flickering white candles.
Luigi roared with pleasure. “This. This is marvelous.” He leaned over and kissed Francesca on the mouth, leaving a sloppy wetness all the way down to her chin.
But then he drew back, and his eyes narrowed. He reached for a gun inside his jacket. “She is not bound.” His voice was wary.
Francesca quickly reached for his forearm. “It’s okay. We’ve come to an agreement. She will not struggle. She knows that she is going to die tonight. I have convinced her to cooperate so it will be easier for her.”
Eva hung her head slightly and nodded, exuding an air of defeat.
Reaching up to whisper in her husband’s ear, Francesca added, “And just to be sure, I have drugged her as well. She will comply. She will concede to your every wish. This is better, my love. This way the men will see your restraint and your control over even the mighty Queen of Spades as she bows to your will and word. It will glorify you in front of them. It will seal your status and power.”
He pushed his wife away, but his shoulders drew back and a faint smile crept onto his lips.
“Men. Please come in. Allow me to introduce the Queen of Spades.”
The men rushed into the room. Some shouted and laughed, others spewed foul names at the woman on the bed.
Francesca spread her arms. “Please come in and have a seat. I know you are all sophisticated men,” she said. “I thought you were deserving of this. Rather than everyone huddled in a basement taking turns—because that’s the other part of the surprise—you each get a turn with her. And I hope you’re not shy, because we’re all going to watch. It will be the final humiliation for this whore.”
Francesca leaned over and spit.
Her husband laughed. “Enough of that.”
Then Francesca turned toward Vincenzo.
“Vincenzo, we owe this moment to you. Thank you.”
He blushed but couldn’t draw his eyes away from Eva.
“Be a dear and go grab Luigi’s cognac from the study,” Francesca said.
Vincenzo balked, but Luigi gave him a look. He disappeared down the hall.
Luigi noticed that two handmaids were in the room. While the men sat in chairs facing the foot of the bed, each woman was pressed up against a wall flanking the sides of the bed. They both wore elegant dresses and stood with their hands behind their backs.
Luigi frowned and said in a low voice, “Must they remain in the room?”
“Yes, my dear. They have a very important job here tonight.”
He gave her a quizzical look.
“To take care of those waiting in line.”
He roared with laughter. He grabbed her face and kissed her long and hard. “You are a gem. Nobody could have such a fine wife as you.”
One of the men grunted, and her husband looked over and gave him an exaggerated wink.
“Why don’t you sit here, my love,” Francesca said, gesturing to the largest chair at the end of the bed, nearest the door. “We will go in order starting at the other end.”
She leaned down to his ear. “I know how you like to watch. By the time it is your turn, you will be on fire.”
Her husband stuck his hand in the scoop neck of her dress and groped her before she could draw away. He moaned. “This is the greatest day of my life. Thank you.”
“It will most definitely be a memorable one,” she said and moved toward the door. “Shall we begin?”
“What about Vincenzo?” her husband asked.
“That man child? Do you think he deserves her again? He took her already in L.A.”
Luigi’s face grew red with fury. “What?”
Francesca nodded. “Sorry. He never told you this?”
“Lock the door.”
Francesca turned to the door with a small smile her husband could not see. As she walked to the door, she met Leticia’s eyes. The other woman stood against the wall expressionless. Near the door was a small table with an ice bucket on it. A bottle of champagne peeked from the top. Francesca closed and dead bolted the door and reached deep into the ice bucket.
At the noise, her husband’s head swerved sharply her way. But she had already drawn out the Glock. She took two strides toward him and fired at point blank range, striking her husband between the eyes. At the same moment, Eva withdrew one of two assault rifles tucked under her billowing gown and began to fire. As the room erupted in a cacophony of gunfire, Francesca kept her eyes trained on her husband. His mouth hung open as he fell to the floor, dead. Everything happened in slow motion. Distantly, Francesca was aware of gunfire and bodies jerking and twitching and blood and brains and flesh flying everywhere.
It seemed an eternity but must have only been a few seconds before normal sound and movement resumed for Francesca. She whipped her head around to make sure her handmaids were okay.
Leticia and Anna stood frozen, their guns at their sides.
Nine men, including her husband, were slumped either on the floor or in their chairs. But one man in the middle cowered, clutching his chest. Sweat dripped down his brow. His glossy eyes were locked on the woman in the red dress.
Francesca turned toward the bed. Eva was on her knees, leaning forward, with the assault rifle pointed at the man.
“Please.” The word came out garbled.
“I spared you for only one reason,” Eva said. “Go to the Council tomorrow morning and tell them what happened here.”
The man nodded fervently.
Eva lowered her gun. “And when you do, give them this message: The Queen of Spades sends her regards.”
The man nodded again but stayed seated, staring.
“Leave now before I change my mind.” Eva’s voice was low and deadly as she gestured toward the door with the assault rifle. The man scrambled to his feet, tripped over the dead man’s slumped body beside him, and nearly fell as he scrambled to the door. His hands shook wildly as he unlocked the deadbolt. Then he was gone through the open doorway. He could be heard retching as he ran away.
Eva briefly met Francesca’s eyes before collapsing face first onto the bed.
Francesca ran over to the bed and flipped Eva over looking for a gunshot wound.
“I’m not shot,” Eva said, opening her eyes. “But I need something. That hypodermic needle the doctor left…it has adrenaline in it. Stick it in my neck. Now.”
Francesca hesitated and Eva repeated firmly, “Now!”
As soon as the syringe was pressed, Eva sat up. She smoothed her skirt down before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She smiled, but there was murder in her eyes.
“Take me to him. Now.”
Forty-Two
1990s
Sicily
Eva unlocked the door, slipped inside, and closed it behind her.
She locked the door behind her. Vincenzo stood with his back to her, his shoulders slumped, his head down.
Candlelight filled the room, just as she had ordered. The wax globes sat on the floor, lining the walls of the room. No candlestick holders. Everything that might be used as a weapon—table lamps, furniture, even a hanging light fixture, had been removed from the room.
She was surprised he hadn’t extinguished the candles, to try to create an advantage of darkness when she came for him.
“Do you like to
play cards?”
Eva was tired of playing around. She was going to take no chances in killing this man tonight. It was long overdue. But she wanted him conscious when she did so. She wanted him to know that his life was hers for the taking.
Before he could react, she was behind him with the blade against his throat.
He inhaled sharply.
Sixty seconds later, Vincenzo Canucci lay dead at her feet.
She placed a Queen of Hearts playing card face up on his chest and then turned on her heel and left without a backward glance.
As soon as she left the room, Eva collapsed into Francesca’s waiting arms.
“Get the car now!” Francesca screamed.
Forty-Three
1990s
Sicily
“She’s fine. Her only wounds are cuts and bruises and the large laceration on the back of her thigh. I stitched it up,” the doctor said.
Francesca sighed with relief. Despite the doctor’s reassurance, the blood all over his floor seemed evidence of another crime scene.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” Francesca said.
“It’s not the first time.”
“Will they be able to tell you helped me?”
The doctor shook his head. “Unless someone in your party says something, I am safe.”
Francesca exhaled. “I promise that will not happen. I will order their silence. Disobedience will mean death.”
“Wow. I didn’t know you cared.” He winked as he said it.
“Doctor, I need someone like you on my side, and I will do anything to ensure you remain safe.”
Her words were solemn. He nodded in reply.
“Can she travel?” Francesca said, reaching for her jacket.
“I don’t think you have a choice,” he said grimly. He handed her a black bag. “This has antibiotics and some other first-aid supplies that should help. If she isn’t feeling better by tomorrow, she may need a blood transfusion.”
“I’m taking her to a safe house in the mountains of Calabria. I can’t take her to a hospital. They will ask questions. They will make connections.”
“I understand.” The doctor stood. “Good luck.”
Forty-Four
A year later …
Capo Paci, Scilla, Italy
Eva stood in the window overlooking her spacious brick courtyard three stories below. All the windows were wide open, letting in a cool, salty ocean breeze laced with the smell of ripening lemons and blood oranges from the trees in her gardens.
The walled courtyard was perched a hundred feet above the sea below. Eva had destroyed the brick stairs leading down to the water, creating a sheer face that only an expert rock climber could scale. And even if someone managed to make it to the top, they would trigger an alarm. The courtyard’s walled sides were flanked by thick, closely planted rows of Italian cypress trees on each side to prevent the prying eyes of curious neighbors from seeing within.
Eva lifted her gaze out to the Tyrrhenian Sea—a turquoise blue for as far as she could see. Her homeland, Sicily, lay not far to the southwest. Sometimes she thought she could glimpse landfall on the horizon and imagined she was gazing on Palermo. Probably not. But it was enough to know it was there. Waiting. It would be there when she was ready to attack.
She surveyed her soldiers below fighting with longswords, rapiers, daggers, and dueling knives. All were women ranging in age from twenty to fifty. Handpicked for their grit, their physical prowess, their inner strength, their innate power. Their passion.
This class numbered twenty.
From her perch in her office, Eva watched the women train at least twice a day. They knew she was watching. It made them work harder. Occasionally, she’d catch one of them shooting a quick glance up to her lookout.
She studied their movements as they followed Catrina, her best trainer. The blonde Northern Italian stood in front of them, leading them in the sleek movements. A glint of silver flashed as the rows of black-clad, masked women parried and thrust and dipped as they learned the ancient martial art form of Gladiatura Moderna.
The women moved with precision. They were Deadly. Beautiful. Ruthless. Trained assassins. Loyal to the core. Of course, that loyalty would be tested. Those not capable of what Eva demanded were let go, though with a hefty severance package. Those who remained were treated as sisters and soon became a close-knit family. It wasn’t a cult.
It was an army.
The hot sun beat down on her through the window. Eva pushed back the sleeve of her black blouse, revealing the tattoo snaking up her forearm: La vendetta è mia. Vengeance is mine.
One class had already graduated. They were her first pick—the ones she trusted with her life. They knew most, but not all, of her secrets. This new class would serve as her foot soldiers. They were more expendable. It was unfortunate, but necessary.
Eva had realized being a leader meant difficult choices at times. She’d studied all the greats for the past year—The Art of War by Sun Tzu, The Persian Expedition by Xenophon, and books on Napoleon, Alexander the Great, Winston Churchill, and Genghis Khan, among others. She knew what it would take to battle the powers that be—those remaining mob bosses who still refused to acknowledge her as one of them.
Her battle was that of a stealth fighter. Already, the whispers were beginning.
The numerous bodies found with the Queen of Spades card upon them were striking fear into the hearts of her enemies. She knew that to win this war, she must first best them mentally. Besting them physically was the icing on the cake. If she struck fear into the enemy’s soldiers, she’d already won.
It had begun.
Her observation was interrupted by a soft knock on her door.
Eva turned, facing the interior of her office. The walls were lined with bookshelves of dark wood, filled with colorful hardbacks and paperbacks. A massive black desk sat facing the sea with a red velvet upholstered chair pulled up to it. Between the desk and windows where Eva stood was a red velvet love seat where those she’d summoned could sit. Rather than take her seat at the desk, Eva remained standing. A second, coded knock—double rap followed by a single rap. Francesca. Her first—and most trusted—warrior.
After Francesca helped Eva escape and nursed her back to health, the two women had plotted the downfall of the rest of the Mafioso and warned them—fuck with Eva’s operations at their own peril. It took a few high-profile murders for Eva to convince the men she meant business.
“Enter.”
The redheaded woman entered. Francesca wore tight black pants with combat boots and a black blazer over a black T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, her eyelids were painted gray with smoky makeup, and her lips painted petal pink. She was the most stunning sixty-five-year-old Eva had ever seen. And the smartest.
By the look on Francesca’s face, Eva knew what her visit was about. Francesca had found the answers to the questions Eva had asked so long ago. It had happened shortly after the scene at Francesca’s house. When she’d recovered, she went to visit Palermo. She’d wanted to see it now that Mazzo was no longer in power.
As she walked through Palermo, surrounded by her guards, an older woman appeared out of nowhere in front of Eva on the empty sidewalk. She could not have been even five-feet-tall. Her features were mostly obscured by a black shawl over her head, but her eyes glittered knowingly out of a wrinkled face.
At first, Eva stepped into the street to give the woman the right-of-way, but the elder woman crooked a gnarled finger, drawing Eva close. The woman spoke, but it was a low rasp, so Eva dipped her head next to the woman’s mouth so she could hear.
When she did, two of Eva’s female bodyguards drew their swords, but Eva held up a palm and they retreated, scowling.
When the woman spoke again, her hot breath ruffling Eva’s hair and sending chills down her neck as it met her ear, Eva could barely make out the words. When they finally sunk in, Eva drew back, her eyes wide. The woman had said, “You have a sister.”
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Eva was speechless. The woman nodded sagely and then shuffled off. Eva made to follow her, but one of her bodyguard’s touched Eva’s elbow and jutted her chin toward a black SUV crawling up the steep road. Polizia. Time to leave.
When Eva turned back, the woman had disappeared.
Back at the hideout on the mainland, Eva had immediately called Francesca into her study.
“I don’t know if you have a sister, but I regret to inform you your mother passed last year.”
Eva nodded slightly. She had assumed that. But still it hurt to hear it. Her face didn’t reveal a thing.
“My half-brothers shipped my mother off to Rome when I was a teenager. She was their stepmother. I never heard from her again,” Eva said. “She may have been pregnant at the time.”
“I will find out for you.”
“Thank you.”
Francesca bowed slightly. The two women had an interesting relationship. The older woman was Eva’s most trusted advisor. But for some reason, Francesca, a force in her own right, deferred to Eva on all things.
Once, Eva had confronted her about it. “You should be a woman of honor. You should not be taking direction or orders from me.”
“I am not a leader. I don’t want to be a leader. What I want is to help you in your mission. I’ve thought long and hard about the best way for me to do that, and if you will so honor me, I ask to remain your consigliere.”
In the Mafia, consigliere was the boss’s right-hand man—in this case woman—their closest and most trusted confidante, and ultimately, friend. They were the only ones within the entire structure who dared argue with the boss. Since Eva didn’t trust anyone enough to have an underboss and Francesca would not accept that role, the redhead was second-in-command. Eva had even drawn up a will, leaving everything to Francesca if she died.
Eva searched the woman’s eyes for a few seconds before nodding. “Please then. Please be my consigliere. It would be a tremendous honor.”
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