The Suicide King

by Kristi Belcamino

  I stood. Time to get out of here. I peeked outside the cave entrance. The rocky shore was below, and right in front of me was a steep, winding path leading around a blind corner. It was my only way out. I shoved everything back in the pack and headed out.

  The trail led to a road. At the top of the road was a small car. And of course, the key fit.

  I checked out my new wheels. A gun was in the glove box. Beside it was a piece of paper that had writing in black ink.

  “La vendetta è mia —Deuteronomy 32:35.”

  I didn’t need to be fluent in Italian to know what it said: “Vengeance is mine.”

  46

  Turricci had escaped through a back entrance to the cave.

  At first, I considered pursuing him, but once I saw Gia on the ground—pinned like a virgin ready to be sacrificed to a dragon and with her dress sliced open down the front—I knew that his death had to come at her hands. Or that she should at least be given that option.

  I’d tried to spare her the pain I’d lived through by simply not meeting her. By staying out of her life completely. But my life had come to her in the form of a crazed killer who’d taken away her boyfriend and her best friend’s new husband. Shame overcame me.

  Her grief was my fault.

  And now it was up to her to choose her path.

  I knew that there was a possibility she would not avenge her boyfriend’s death when given the chance. But I also knew she had to be given the chance.

  My black leather go bag still contained an extra set of my clothes and some water and food. I called Alicia over and put her car key inside the bag.

  I took off my boots and left them and the go bag at the entrance to the cave, ordering my women to free Gia as I made my way, barefoot, back up to my car.

  Using one of the dead men’s phones, Eva called Turricci from her sister’s villa. The villa would do perfectly. The senior Turricci had thought he could make up for a rape by buying a villa. The villa would now be where the future was decided that afternoon.

  Eva’s soldiers had taken up hiding spots in and around the home. She had taught them well. At one point, she’d needed one of them, and the woman had emerged from a clump of wild bushes on the side of the house, completely camouflaged in clothing that blended into the brush. Her heart swelled with pride. But also, slight fear.

  She’d gathered them and told them they were facing a risky mission. She was inviting the enemy into the house, and she was going to sit back and let Gia handle the situation.

  “Only intervene if you think she is about to die. Only then. And then I want you to take off their fucking heads.”

  “And there may be a long wait while you are hiding,” I continued. “I know you have trained for this, but it could be very difficult to stay immobile and concealed for as long as you might have to.”

  “We will not let you down,” Diana said.

  Now it was time to set the plan in action.

  When Turricci answered his phone, Eva said, “You heard about Don Pedro’s house, right?”

  “Yes. Jesus Christ. You are insane.”

  “I spared his children’s lives. I’m only warning you so you can order your housekeeper and staff to safety so nobody dies needlessly.”

  “What the fuck? You’re going to blow up my house? You want me dead but have a conscience? You don’t want my fucking housekeeper to die?”

  “You understand perfectly.”

  Eva could tell that her skewed values and morals frightened Turricci more than anything.

  “You make no sense.”

  “I can be convinced not to blow up your house under one condition,” Eva said.

  “What is that?”

  “You agree to end your vendetta.”

  His laugh echoed in Eva’s ears.

  “That’s even crazier.”

  “With Don Pedro dead,” Eva said. “You stand a good chance of becoming the new Capo dei capi. If we work together, I can help you make that happen.”

  “Don Pedro is not dead.”

  “Yet,” Eva said.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I want my life back. I want to return to my homeland. And you are the only one who stands in my way. If you let the vendetta go, we can join forces and be the most powerful couple to ever live in Sicily.”

  Turricci was quiet long enough for Eva to smile. He was considering it.

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “I will give you the girl as a gesture of trust.”

  “She is your blood.”

  “Blood means nothing to me,” Eva lied smoothly. “I have never even met her. Today, in the cave, was the first time I laid eyes on her, and I felt nothing. That is partly why I’m making this proposal.”

  Again, Turricci was silent.

  “What do I have to do?”

  “I will send her to the villa your father gave her mother. Later. She is expected to arrive there at seven. I suggest you go there immediately in case she doesn’t follow directions well. When you are done there and see I have kept my word, call me on this number, and we can make our plans. If you betray me, your house will burn like Don Pedro’s.”

  Eva hung up, heart pounding.

  She’d left a map in the bag that would lead Gia to the family cemetery. There, Gia would see that the family’s motto was “Vengeance.” That they were a Mafioso family. The news could be shocking to the girl. Or not. Eva had also left a map to her sister’s villa that said “7 p.m.”

  Gia could come earlier, but if so, Eva would adjust.

  She was so torn in her emotions. It was startling to feel something for a stranger she’d never spoken to, but the moment she’d seen Gia pegged to the cave floor like an animal, she’d felt a surge of affection and an overwhelming desire to protect her no matter the personal cost. Despite her words to Turricci, Eva had begun to believe there was something to blood being thicker than water.

  Now, she stood at the back of the villa looking out the French doors. Just below the bluff lay a long dock that stretched out to the sea. She could see the end of it from her perch. It would take less than five minutes to get to it if she raced down the stairs.

  Five minutes would be all she needed.

  Francesca had arranged for a sea plane to dock around the corner at another seaside home. When Eva requested it, it would take only a few minutes to appear below.

  If all went according to plan, Eva would leave on the sea plane alone. But if everything went to hell, it could also be used to take Gia or her soldiers—or even Eva herself—to the nearest hospital.

  47

  Antonio Turricci had his men search the house thoroughly before he settled into a chair in the front room to wait for Gia Santella.

  He wasn’t sure what sort of game the Queen of Spades was playing, but for now, he’d play along. He’d stationed four men in the terrain surrounding the driveway leading up to the house, just in case Eva had some notion about blowing up this house with him inside.

  As much as he didn’t want to believe her, the thought of joining forces with Eva Santella—the Queen of Spades—was tantalizing. Up until now, he’d been driven by an intense need to fulfill a vendetta. He’d wanted to erase his father’s reputation as the Suicide King. He’d dreamed of avenging his father’s murder and dying with honor.

  But after Eva’s call, he could picture a new reality. He could see her by his side. He could see the ultimate power the two of them would possess in ruling over Sicily. Then they could take their rule to Southern Italy and then the entire country.

  Between the two of them, they could build an invincible empire.

  48

  My mother’s villa stood alone on a bluff overlooking the ocean. The driveway led to a giant iron gate flanked by a huge stone wall that hugged the curves of the hills as far as the eye could see, all the way to what must have been the cliff overlooking the sea.

  After I stopped at the cemetery so much more made sense.

  It w
as my family’s cemetery. With their motto. We were mafia. We always had been. I think my mother had tried to break free of it by fleeing to America.

  But Turricci wouldn’t let her go. When she refused him, even turning down this villa before me, he couldn’t stand it and killed her.

  Now, they were both dead.

  And yet the repercussions of their actions were still unraveling.

  I was here to end it once and for all. I just wasn’t sure how it would happen yet. From the second I stepped foot in Italy, I’d been a pawn in someone else’s game. It was time for that to change. After I met with Eva at this house, I would hunt down Turricci junior and make him pay for Bobby and Matt’s murders.

  I stopped on the road in front of the gate, examining my options. The iron gate was connected to a twelve-foot-high iron fence. The fence led to the sea on each side of the mansion that was set far back from the road.

  There was no buzzer at the gate. There was only one way in—through that gate—and I wasn’t getting in unless I scaled it myself. For a half second I considered it. After all, it was my property now, right? That’s when I noticed something on the visor. A small box that looked like a garage door opener. What the hell? I pressed the button.

  The gate swung open. I glanced in my rearview mirror. There were no other cars in sight. I gunned my car through the gate.

  The gravel road leading to the house was slightly winding and lined with Italian cypress trees. When I rounded a corner, I saw the villa, which was more like a modern mansion perched on the cliff overlooking the sea.

  It had sleek lines, definitely more Frank Lloyd Wright than Italian villa.

  As I drew closer, I saw that Turricci’s white vintage car sat in the driveway.

  I could feel the weight of the gun tucked into my waistband.

  My car skidded to a stop in the gravel driveway. There was no need to be stealthy. He had probably seen and heard me coming for the past five minutes. I glanced at the backpack. There was nothing I would need inside. I had a gun. The cell phone wasn’t going to save me. I got out, slamming the door behind me.

  The front door was propped open. I pushed it open slightly.

  “Come in. I’ve been expecting you.”

  His voice was matter-of-fact.

  “Here I am.” I made sure my own voice matched his nonchalance, even though my heart was pounding.

  Stepping inside the foyer, I saw him right away. He was in a room off to my right. He sat in a white modern chair without arms. He had one leg thrown over the other as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  He took me in as if I walked in that door every day at this time.

  A big gun rested on a clear glass table beside him inches from his fingers. The weight of the gun at the small of my back, in my waistband, felt reassuring. I snaked my hand to my back and withdrew the gun but kept it behind me. His green eyes didn’t miss a thing. In an instant, his own gun was in his hand. He kept it pointing at the floor, but a flick of the wrist is all it would take to aim it my way.

  I inched into the room, keeping my hand behind me until I got to a red plastic chair across from him. I pressed my back against the wall beside the chair, letting my arm and hand with the gun fall to my side.

  “Are you wondering how I knew you would be here?” he asked.

  I sort of was, but I wasn’t going to admit that to him.

  “Why didn’t you kill me at the Hotel Rizzoli?”

  He shrugged.

  Even saying the word hotel where Bobby died sent a wave of anger and grief through me, making me raise my voice to near hysterical level. “Why did you send your gunmen to the reception? There were innocent people there. Is that how the mafia operates nowadays? Without any honor? Killing innocents? And missing the mark?”

  I was hoping to provoke him to anger, but he appeared unruffled. His face was expressionless, his posture relaxed.

  “It is too silly to go into.” He said it with a smile.

  My blood began to boil. The murder of the man I loved was far, far from silly. My jaw tightened. My face grew hot. It took all my willpower not to lift the gun and squeeze the trigger. But I wanted him to talk more. I needed some explanation for the senseless bloodshed that he had caused and that had ripped my entire world apart.

  “The other people were collateral damage.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  He waved his hand. “Put the gun down. Look behind you.”

  I glanced to the side. Three men stood in the shadows holding guns aimed at me.

  “By the time you pull the trigger, my men will have fired, and you will be dead. They are professional assassins. My life depends on whether they could outshoot you. Like in the old west. But I have faith in my men. So, put your gun down. Let’s do this civilly. I will give you a chance to write some final words.”

  He nodded toward an open archway that led to a kitchen counter. Beyond the counter were massive French doors. I could see the blue of the sea beyond them. I saw a pen and paper on the counter. It was a trick. He wanted me to put down my gun and then the men would fire.

  And he was wrong. Dead wrong. He had underestimated me. His last and fatal mistake. Of course, I knew that pulling the trigger would mean my own death. I wasn’t stupid. But it was a trade I was willing to make. He’d made the mistake of thinking that I valued my life more than I valued vengeance. I thought about the slip of paper in the glovebox. Vendetta. Vengeance was mine. At any cost.

  He was still talking.

  “You took my father’s life. It was not worth that much. Not after he raped my sister. But his life was mine to take. If my men are to have any respect for me, I must avenge his death. It has gone on much too long. It is pure business. The Queen of Spades has declared war on us. She is killing our men. She must be stopped. You are precious to her. So, by sending her your head, I not only show her who is superior, but I regain the respect of my men.”

  “You’re insane.” It didn’t make any sense to me. None of it.

  He burst into laughter.

  I stood stock still, glaring at him.

  He waved his gun. “Come. Let’s go. Remember it’s business. It’s not personal.”

  I saw red at the edges of my vision. My legs began to shake. But my fingers on the gun were steady. The murder of my boyfriend, not personal? Not goddamn personal?

  “The fuck it isn’t.” I raised the gun. “It’s one hundred and ten percent personal, motherfucker.”

  I squeezed the trigger. It took more pressure than I’d expected. In slow motion, I watched Turricci drop to his knees. His green eyes went wide. His mouth moved, soundlessly, and his arms flailed in front of him before he collapsed in a heap.

  The silence after stunned me. I’d expected to hear gunshots. I’d figured by the time the sound of my own gunshot reached me, I’d be breathing my last. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was still standing.

  I looked around, blinking, confused as to why I was still alive.

  The gunmen were dead. All three were on the floor, each with their throats sliced open from ear to ear.

  Four women, all small and dressed in black, stood nearby holding bloody knives. Before I could fully focus on their faces, they were gone, a blur of black.

  An acrid smell filled the air. I was surrounded by death. I’d murdered a man. This time intentionally. And I didn’t feel a bit of guilt. Instead, I felt nothing. Which scared the shit out of me. He had killed Bobby. I’d had no choice. I didn’t relish the fact that I was a murderer, but I didn’t regret it, either. It was what it was.

  The smallest sound behind me made me freeze. My hand relaxed on the gun. I realized I’d smelled her before I’d heard her. It was the same scent on the shirt I wore—my mother’s perfume.

  “You needed to do it yourself.” Her voice was silky smooth and surprisingly familiar to me.

  “If you hadn’t, if I had killed him, your thirst for revenge, for vendetta, would have consumed you. Eaten you up inside. I know
this firsthand. I’m sorry for the games, but I needed to lead you both here so you could confront him in your own way.”

  I wanted desperately to turn around, but I resisted.

  “I had thought you would look like her.” Her voice grew soft, wondering. “Fair, like Lucia. But you are dark. Like me.”

  Her voice held no hint of an Italian accent.

  The air rippled, and I felt a slight breeze as she walked past me toward the French doors leading to the balcony overlooking the sea.

  I studied her from behind. I still hadn’t seen her face. Her long dark hair fell down the middle of her back in thick waves. Her black shirt, tunic length and hugging her body down to her thighs was a twin to the one I wore, along with the thick leggings and boots. But she had a scabbard slung across her back to hold her sword. The sword was in her left hand, pointed at the ground. Droplets of blood beaded at the tip and then slowly dropped to the floor. I wondered which one had died at her hands. Then I saw a man by the front door missing his head. There was my answer.

  From behind, she looked like a goddamn pirate.

  Turn around.

  She kept talking, her back ramrod straight.

  “They’d already taken everything from me,” she said in a low voice. “I didn’t think there was anything left for them to take.”

  I started to protest, but the words froze in my throat as she turned around.

  It was like looking in a mirror and adding a few laugh lines and more defined cheekbones. She looked like me.

  “Who are you?” I asked. The answer was unfathomable. I cringed, waiting.

  “I think you know who I am,” she said lightly.

  I didn’t have time for games. I needed answers. “I know what they call you. I want to know who you really are.”

  “I’m your mother’s sister.”

  “My mother doesn’t have a sister.” I could feel my face contort.

  She shrugged. “As you wish.”

  Tilting her head, she listened. Then I heard it. The rumbling of an airplane. It grew louder and, in one fluid motion, she tucked her sword back into her sheath and slipped out the open French doors to the deck. She stepped off to one side and disappeared from my sight line.