Instead of lying in bed in the silence and listening for every little noise, I reach across to the nightstand and grab a hold of the remote control. It takes all the focus that I have to find the power button.
Lying on my side, facing the television, I flip the channels, not even seeing what I’m passing. I’m just flipping to give myself something to do. A terrible attempt at keeping the fact that Renzo is gone off of my mind.
It doesn’t work.
All I can think about is where he possibly could be and who he could be with. Dozens of scenarios continue to run through my mind. I don’t know him well enough to even guess at what he could be doing.
He said that he needed to finish up a couple of work things, but as I glance at the clock, I wonder what work things need to be handled at three in the morning? Then there’s also the simple fact that I’m leaving with him in a few days and I still don’t know what he does for a living.
It’s been niggling in the back of my mind and I just can’t accept his nonanswer about his career. Who doesn’t tell the person that they ask to come to another country, to live with them, what they do for a living? It’s weird. It makes me nervous and uneasy, too.
RENZO
“Orin Murphy,” I drawl.
The warehouse is empty save for three women who are huddled in the corner of their cages. I made sure to come here when he was alone, following him when I knew that he would be preparing to leave and doing so alone.
His secretary was a wealth of information. One visit to her, one touch, one kiss, one thrust, and the bitch sang like a canary. Then, unfortunately, I had to blow her brains out. It’s not a pretty job, but somebody had to do it.
I couldn’t have her singing to anyone else about me, especially the authorities. Not here, not in another country, not when I’m almost finished with my job and ready to go home.
Orin’s spine stiffens and he turns around slowly. I know that he doesn’t carry, his guards do, but he doesn’t, not ever. His goons aren’t here today and they won’t be. He’s running, and he’s doing it alone. Well, him and the three beauties that are caged up like animals behind him.
Except, I won’t allow his plans to come to fruition. I’m going to end him, right here, right now. He’s not taking the women anywhere. They’re going to go home and he’ll never hurt another child.
I’m not one that’s particularly into vigilante work, except in this case. When it comes to children. I wouldn’t probably even give much of a fuck if it were adult women. I would end him because he lied to Vino, but trafficking is what it is, and it’s never going to be eradicated.
The innocent, the children of the world, they should always be off-limits to everyone and everything. I don’t give a fuck what kind of hypocrite that makes me, it’s how I feel and it’s the way I’ve always lived.
“And you are?” he finally asks. He has a tremble to his voice that he’s unable to mask. It causes me to chuckle.
Shrugging a shoulder, I tilt my head to the side. “Nobody and everybody all at the same time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps.
Taking a step toward him, he takes one back. “It means that I’m nobody to you and yet I represent everybody you’ve ever hurt.”
“You’re American,” he points out. “Italian too, judging by your darker complexion.”
My lips curve up into a grin. “Congratulations. You’ve pegged my accent and my nationality. Any idea why I’m here?” I ask.
He grunts, but thankfully doesn’t make a move to run. He wouldn’t make it far. I’d shoot him in one calf, then in the other before I tied him up. I’ll be tying him up no matter what, it’s up to him whether he’s bleeding from his legs first or not.
“Gavino has some questions?”
Taking a step toward him, I jerk my chin toward a chair a few feet away. “Have a seat.”
“Oh, are you going to call him?” he asks. “FaceTime?”
I shake my head slowly. “Your secretary said you weren’t very smart. Book smart, yes. Common sense, none.”
“My secretary?” he asks as he takes a step back and then slowly sinks down into the chair.
The man has zero self-preservation. For someone who has been running a multi-million-dollar human trafficking business, and a personal drug production and trade company, he’s a fucking idiot.
“Your secretary. Decent tits, terrible lay,” I say with a smirk.
His eyes widen before he narrows them on me. Lifting my hand, I point the gun at him. A gun for whatever reason, he didn’t even notice was in my grip this entire time. His eyes widen again and his lips part as he watches me for a moment. He closes his mouth and gulps before he decides to speak.
“You hurt her, didn’t you?’
“Got a problem with that? With me hurting a woman you care about?” I ask.
He narrows his gaze. “She is my cousin, you fool,” he sneers.
“Was,” I clarify. “Tell me, what did you do with the forty-five little girls you put on a plane a few nights ago? Where did they end up?” I ask.
His eyes shift to the side, then slowly come back to meet my own. “It’s not what you think.”
Leaning forward, I curl my lip at him. “You have no idea what I think,” I growl.
“Some clients have particular tastes. Sometimes they threaten me to have those needs and tastes met. I don’t do it all the time. This was a special occasion.”
I shake my head slowly. “No excuses for hurting kids, directly or indirectly. No excuses for keeping women in cages. The Zanetti famiglia only agreed to this with you because Gavino was told that these women were being sent to you voluntarily.”
“They are, I swear it,” he says, his words are lies. All of them. Now that I’ve met him, I’m not sure if the man could speak the truth if he tried.
Lifting the hand not holding the gun, I wave it around the room. “These cages, those women, they’re here on their own accord? They want to be whores in New York?” I ask.
“They want better. I’m giving it to them. I’m saving them.”
It hits me. Like a freight train. He’s not stupid. He’s mentally off. Judging by the way his eyes sparkle as he speaks, he truly thinks that he’s helping them, at least some of them.
I shake my head slowly, the truth staring me back in the face. He’s like a rabid dog, he needs to be put down, his infection will continue to spread. Even if Gavino doesn’t work with him anymore, he’ll continue.
“I don’t think that O’Neil would like that, boyo.”
Sucking in a breath, I think about the Irish boss. He may not like it, but it was Murphy who was blackmailing and threatening him, so then again, he would probably be glad to have that shit off his back and Murphy six feet under.
“You think O’Neil gives a single fuck if you live or die?”
It’s then that Murphy starts to show his hand. His lips curve up into a grin, then he leans over slightly. “I think that he would care if his kids were murdered, but that was never the threat.”
I don’t pretend to know what he’s talking about, I honestly don’t give a fuck. I am not a Boss and these games that they play are annoying as fuck for the most part. Keeping the barrel of my gun lifted, and pointed at his forehead, I lift a brow and wait for him to continue.
It honestly doesn’t matter what he tells me, not right now. He’s dead and I’m letting those girls go free. But I’ll let him attempt to save his skin and I’ll get all of the information I can while he does it, too.
Chapter Twenty
RENZO
Murphy is hiding something. I’m not sure what it is, but he has a trump card and he is chomping at the bit to play it right about now. I’ll wait. He likes to talk, so there’s no sense in me even needing to exert myself trying to get the information out of him.
He lets out a sigh, then extends his legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. “Do you think that I’m the man in charge of all of this? You know I’m only thirt
y-five,” he announces.
Arching a brow, I try not to laugh in his face. Before I spoke to him, I would have said yeah, he could do all of this. Now? No. But it has nothing to do with his age and everything to do with the fact that he’s an idiot.
“My boss is around that age,” I say. He doesn’t need exact details, so I’m not going to give them to him.
He smirks. “Mine isn’t. He’s older.”
“Just say whatever it is,” I sigh, getting tired of his smirks. I have a warm woman waiting at my hotel room for me and I would love to get back to her.
Murphy chuckles, he looks to the side, then back to me. “My father is the real brains of this. He’s the one that you should be worried about, not me. I just do his dirty work for him, I’m just a lackey,” he explains.
Father. Frowning, I don’t recall anyone telling me about a father, and that is pretty fucking important. That is something Vino should have mentioned, that should have been in the goddamn file.
“I see you’re confused. It’s pretty simple. My father is the money, the brains, and the one in charge. I am the face, the one everyone knows and sees. It’s not your fault you didn’t know, Gavino has never even heard his name.”
Clearing my throat, I tilt my head to the side. “What does your father have to do with anything, then? With this O’Neil?” I ask.
I pretend as if I don’t know about O’Neil or the fact that he was the one who brokered this whole thing to keep his daughter from being married off to this fuck face right here in front of me. At least I assume it was to him, hell, maybe it was to the old man himself.
“There isn’t a hit out on her, that’s a bit cliché. If that’s what you’re thinking.”
It wasn’t. But I don’t say that. I wait.
“In the contract, if the terms are not met, the default would be that the O’Neil girl comes here. She’s ours.”
“Ours?” I ask.
His lips twitch into a grin. “My father is generous with his women.”
Nodding my head once, I snort. “You think you’ll be walking out of here alive, instead of me dragging your dead body out?”
He blinks, his sudden cockiness disappearing in front of me. Oh, he had thought he was going to live. That’s funny, and sad, because he really is as big of an idiot as I thought he might be.
Clearing my throat, I don’t say anything, knowing that he has more to say, there is more on the tip of his tongue just waiting to spill over. He doesn’t disappoint, just like he hasn’t this entire meeting.
“Alive or not, doesn’t matter. Breach of contract is breach of contract and she will be put on a plane and sent to him. She will be his to do with as he pleases.”
“Do you think that you’ve not breached your contract?” I ask.
I don’t know what’s in the contract, I’m bluffing slightly, but an educated bluff, because I know that Vino did not want unwilling women.
He wanted women who were willing to learn the trade and art of being a high-class call girl, a girl of the Zanetti famiglia. Something that isn’t cheap or dirty, something that is highly coveted and desired. Men pay thousands of dollars just for a taste of a Zanetti girl. He would not allow stolen girls, trafficked girls, not like Murphy has been sending.
None of this has been on the up-and-up and I know without a doubt there will be some kind of clause in the paperwork that calls that shit a goddamn fucking breach in and of itself. This fucker is annoying me and I’m just about done dealing with him.
“You can kill me, but you’ll never get to him and he’ll just keep doing what he’s doing,” he sneers.
I almost laugh in his face, but decide I need to ask him one more thing before he goes. “There was a little girl, about ten years ago. Emilyn. What happened to her?”
His face turns white and there is a look of surprise that crosses his features, then he shakes his head and it all disappears.
“Doesn’t matter. I’d never tell you.”
He may never tell me, but it does matter, and he knows exactly who I’m talking about. Interesting. Very fucking interesting.
“Don’t worry, your daddy will be joining you soon,” I breathe right before I pull the trigger.
Blood, brains, hair, it all goes everywhere. I snort at the sight. I could probably leave him here and he would just decay without a single person looking for him. Something continues to play through my mind as I sift through his pockets for clues on who and where his father is.
If he was in business with his father, why was he planning on leaving and not coming back? Why didn’t he tell his father he was going? There is something not quite right there and after I let these crying women go, I’m going to find out.
It doesn’t take me long to find his wallet and phone. Everything else in his pockets useless, especially the unopened condom.
Walking over to the cages, I reach for the latches and unlatch each one of them. I recognize the one from the bus stop. She’s young, too young and I hope that she lives a good life after this.
None of the women move immediately. Opening the doors, I dip my chin in a silent instruction for them to go.
“Run on home now, girls. Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me, yeah?”
They blink, then without hesitating, two of the three dash off. I don’t even have a chance to watch them go, they are a blur of hair and skin as they run. I don’t blame them, I would probably be the same way.
The third stays in her cage and I tilt my head to the side. “I don’t have anywhere to go,” she whispers.
“Where’d he get you?” I ask.
She licks her lips, she looks down at her lap, then lifts her eyes to meet mine. “The streets,” she whispers.
Nodding my head once, I dig in my pocket and get some cash out. It isn’t much, but it’s enough to last her a couple weeks if she spends wisely and doesn’t spend it all on blow or something. I could bring her back with me, whore her out, but I don’t think that’s what she wants.
“Take this, and take this opportunity to change your life,” I murmur.
She looks at my hand, then lifts her gaze to meet mine. “How?” she asks.
“Don’t know, girl. Not my thing, but this ain’t what you want, yeah?”
She shakes her head. “It’s not.”
She scoots out of her cage and stands, her gaze never leaving my hand full of cash. I keep my arm extended and she places her palm on mine. Her gaze flicks up to meet mine and she inhales a deep breath, letting it out with a heavy sigh as she takes the money.
“I’m going to buy a bus ticket, go home to my ma and da,” she whispers.
“Go on, girl.”
She does. I don’t watch her leave, instead I go about half-assed cleaning up the body of this dumb motherfucker, Orin Murphy. Now, I have another fucking task that I need to work on, and that’s finding his goddamn father.
SIOBAHN
I wait for Renzo. And then I wait some more. When the sun rises and he’s still not back, I can’t help but feel a bit nervous. I don’t know what he was doing all night long, but the fact that he’s not back here by now has me wondering if he’s been hurt in some way.
Reaching for my cell phone, I debate calling him. I shouldn’t, but it’s been hours and he’s still gone. Pressing my lips together, I bite the bullet and find his name in the contacts.
I’m left even more confused when he doesn’t answer. It rings once and then goes straight to voicemail. I send him a text next, and watch, but it never said read.
Something is wrong, I can feel it in my bones. Last night I thought that maybe he was seeing another woman, but now I’m not so sure. The problem is that I have nobody to contact to find out if he’s okay or not.
The man, Sullivan, that I met, I haven’t seen him in days. I don’t even know if Sullivan was his first name or last name. I have nothing to go off of and nobody to call.
I can’t even contact Kathleen, or anyone from the shop because they’re working today and thanks to my dram
a yesterday, they have to fit all of my clients in between their own. Sitting up in the middle of the bed, I can do absolutely nothing but worry.
Then, as if I’ve summoned him, the door flies open and Renzo is standing right in front of me. He’s a bloody mess. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. He closes the door behind him, locking it, then walks toward me, slowly—too slowly.
“It’s not all mine,” he grunts.
Shaking my head, I lift my hand to my parted lips and just watch him as he begins to strip his clothes from his body. I blink a couple of times, trying to force myself to get it together long enough to ask him a couple questions.
“What’s happened, Renzo? Where were you?” I eventually ask, which sounds more like a demand than a question, but I can’t really form a decent sentence right now, so this is all I have.
He’s stripped down to his boxer briefs and he lifts his gaze to look at me. His lips curve up into a small smile and I almost forget that he has a bruise on his cheek, his eye is a bit swollen and he’s covered in blood splatters.
“Work was a bit rough, cuoricino,” he murmurs.
Pressing my lips together, I cross my arms over my chest. “Maybe it’s time you explain your work to me?”
He lets out a snort, holding out his hand. “I need a shower, you good to stand or do you need me to draw you a bath?”
I almost melt, almost, at his question. “I’m okay to stand,” I rasp, which causes his mouth to turn up into a full-fledged smile.
Reaching out, I take his hand and allow him to gently tug me off of the bed. I’m not finished though, my questions have not been answered.
Once we’re in the bathroom, he leans down and curls his fingers in my tank top, peeling it from my body. I wiggle my hips and remove my panties next, at the same time he tosses my shirt aside before taking off his own underwear.
He starts the water, the bathroom quickly filling with steam. Silently, we step into the warm water and it’s then that I start asking more questions.
Becoming the Hitman (Zanetti Famiglia Book 5) Page 14