Annihilate Them

by Christina Ross

Her thoughts turned to Stephen, and once again she felt the thrill of her victory over him. Meredith Rowe didn’t just hail from one of the country’s most influential and wealthy families, but her personal net worth was nearly four hundred million dollars—something Stephen had fought like hell to get his hands on.

  In the end, he’d lost. Worse for him, it had been a very public loss, with stories written about his fight for her money in the Times, the Journal, and a host of other influential news outlets. His greed had made him look desperate in the press, which she knew for a fact had cost him influential friendships, partnerships, and potential business deals. All he’d walked away with was the fifty million dollars they’d first agreed to in their prenuptial agreement, signed and dated eighteen years ago at her father’s insistence.

  You made your bed with that stripper, Stephen—so lie in it. Rot in it. Die in it for all I care.

  When she turned onto Frank’s street, she felt a thrill in the sudden quiet—she couldn’t wait to be in his arms again. This was a residential street and it was lined with townhouses, beautiful apartment buildings, charming wrought-iron lamps that cast umbrellas of warm light onto the sidewalks. The teems of people she’d been walking with on Park were behind her now.

  She was thinking about the potential of giving Frank the gift of going down on him for the first time when a car cruised past her and then made a hard cut to the right, moving to a sudden stop alongside the cars parked next to the sidewalk.

  She watched as a stylish young woman somewhere in her early thirties with long black hair stepped out of the car and started to move down the sidewalk toward her.

  In typical New-York style, Meredith just lowered her head a bit and kept walking forward, not wanting to make eye contact in a city that eschewed such a gesture. Even though she was in one of the best and safest parts of Manhattan, she nevertheless held her handbag a bit tighter to her body. Meredith was just about to pass her when the woman stopped in front of her, lifted a gun from her jacket pocket, and pointed it at Meredith’s face.

  “Say one word—dare to scream—and this will get uglier than it needs to be,” the woman said.

  Startled, Meredith stared incredulously at the gun. Then, she looked at the woman, whose pretty, exotic-looking face was a knot of determination. Instinctively, she looked around them, but saw that no one else was on the street. They were alone, and since they were between street lamps, they also were standing in pools of darkness.

  “I don’t understand,” Meredith said. “Are you robbing me? If you are, take whatever you want. Take my handbag. Take my watch and earrings—those alone are worth thirty thousand. I don’t want any trouble. It’s not worth it.”

  “I don’t want your money, Meredith.”

  She knows my name...?

  “In fact, I have a message for you from Stephen.”

  “From Stephen?” Meredith said—and then she felt herself go cold. The gun. The divorce. The humiliation. He was going to have her killed. Still, with a trembling voice and in an effort to buy time, she managed to speak. “What’s this about?” she said.

  “Revenge,” the woman said. “But don’t worry, darling—because you’re just the first on his list of those who either betrayed him or tried to ruin him. Since you fit both bills, you die first and then—”

  Before the woman could finish, Meredith swung out her handbag and smashed it against the side of her head.

  Tried to smash it.

  The woman was quick.

  She reared back as the bag zipped just past her face, and then she rushed forward and cracked the side of the gun hard against Meredith’s cheek, which sent her to her knees. She pulled a dazed Meredith to her feet—and then she seized either side of Meredith’s head between each of her hands.

  “Stephen wishes you well in hell, Meredith. He wanted me to leave you with this.”

  Meredith was about to scream when her head was suddenly jerked violently to the right. The last thing she heard was her own bones shattering. The last thing she felt was her spine disconnecting from her skull. And the last thing she saw was a spinning world of faraway streetlights fanning out into a darkness that was too dark—and then into a light that was so bright, she tumbled into it. By the time she crumpled to the sidewalk, she didn’t feel the impact of her face connecting with it, because at that point, Meredith Rowe—once so victorious over her ex-husband—was dead because of him.

  “DO YOU THINK ROWE INTENTIONALLY set us up in a safe house in Hell’s Kitchen, or do you think that’s just some sort of weird coincidence?” Gia Bassi asked her younger brother, Carlo, as they left Meredith in their wake and sped off into the night.

  “This is the first thing that comes to your mind after you break a woman’s neck?” he said.

  Gia, a stunning woman just about to turn thirty-two, pulled her long, black hair away from her face and wrapped it in a knot behind her head while Carlo checked the rearview mirror for any signs of the police—or anyone else who might be following them. Meanwhile, Gia removed her gloves and tossed them at her feet.

  “Why not?” she said. “It isn’t as if we haven’t been in odd situations like this before. Or that any of this is new to us. And by the way, that one had some balls, didn’t she? Did you see her take a swing at me?”

  “I did. It wasn’t pleasant to watch.”

  “Always the worrier,” she said. “Her murder played out exactly as we planned.”

  “When it comes to you, sometimes I do worry, Gia. I’ve seen you be reckless before, you know? Not often, but I have.”

  She had to laugh at that. He was calling her reckless? Please. It was because of her that he was making millions as an assassin. And as far as Gia was concerned, he better not forget how she’d taken him under her wing when he came to her seven years ago so she could teach him what she knew.

  But she wasn’t in the mood for an argument, so she backed off.

  “Anyway, that’s one down,” she said. “And I think it went well. She was right on schedule. Just like clockwork. Every Thursday night, Meredith was going off to fuck her new lover. It still amazes me, you know?”

  “What amazes you?”

  “How people aren’t even aware of the patterns they leave in their wake. As if no one is watching them. As if they’re invincible.”

  “You’re assuming most people are bright.”

  “Apparently I am.”

  “Not the case,” he said.

  “And so it isn’t.”

  She looked out her window as the city sped by, revealing in its wake a series of vignettes—a twentysomething couple holding hands as they walked down the sidewalk; a late-night runner tearing past the couple with her ponytail bouncing behind her; a businessman likely hurrying to get home and checking his watch, his briefcase swinging at his side.

  New York City was a big part of their world, but as much as they loved it here, their world extended to many other major domestic and international cities, where, over the years, scores of people had died at their feet due to the ruthlessness of their own hands.

  New York was closest to their hearts because it was where they had been born and raised. It was where they had earned their bones. It was, after all, their Uncle Niccolo who had given Gia a chance of a lifetime when she was just nineteen and had dared to ask him how he earned such an extravagant living.

  To Gia’s family, asking Niccolo that was like touching the third rail—no one ever spoke about what he did for work, because Niccolo had forbidden them from going there. But perhaps because she loved her uncle as much as he had loved her, he decided to tell her—and soon she was learning from him, and then working for him. The unrest that invited into the family was almost palpable, but because Niccolo was revered as much as he was feared, her working for him was nevertheless allowed to take place.

  Seven years later, Carlo—who knew nothing about what his sister did—started to question her about what she did for work. How was it possible for her to live the kind of high-end lifestyle t
hat she lived when, as far as he knew, she didn’t even have a job? Somehow, she had apartments in New York, Paris, Venice, and London. It made no sense to him.

  After Gia consulted with Niccolo, they agreed that Carlo also would be told the truth about each of their lives, and, if he was interested, he’d be brought in. He was, after all, whip-smart, athletic, quick on his feet, street smart, worldly, terrific when it came to computers—and cold when he needed to be. Despite his wandering eye for women, he was a perfect fit for an assassin. But now, with Niccolo having passed a year before from cancer, it was just the two of them left to extend his legacy, which Gia held close to her heart with pride, honor, and love.

  “I wish we were were staying at your apartment,” Carlo said as they crossed the city and moved toward West 50th Street.

  “Why?”

  “Because it feels like home.”

  “You know we can’t stay there—not until the job is done. And likely not for several months after that. To be safe.”

  “I get it—everything has been set up so there are no ties to us or Rowe. Still, your little brother can wish.”

  “Little, my ass,” she said.

  “You know what I mean.”

  She felt a rush of affection for him. A sense of home had always been important to them.

  “How about if I make you dinner tomorrow night?” she said as she patted his knee. “Whatever you want. I’ll even do something French. Even though Nonna would roll over in her grave if she knew that you liked French food more than you like Italian food.”

  He shot her a sidelong glance. “That would be all well and good if you could actually cook,” he said. “But since you can’t, I don’t see you making me even something as simple as chicken with forty cloves of garlic.”

  “I’m a terrific cook!”

  “I’m just joking,” he laughed. “I know you are. And if you make that for me? Hell, I’ll do the laundry.”

  “Oh, you are so on.”

  “I love you, Gia.”

  “I love you too, Carlo. We’re a team.”

  WHEN THEY ARRIVED AT the apartment on West 50th Street, they went straight to the media room to put an end to the night.

  Rowe would be waiting at his computer for them. Tonight was so monumental in his plan to see all of them dead, that both Gia and Carlo knew that he likely would be salivating for an update. Was Meredith dead? How had she died? Did she suffer? Did she know it was he who’d had her killed?

  He’d want to know the lot of it.

  While Carlo turned on the iMac and each of them sat down in front of the computer, Gia was acutely aware of all of the security measures Carlo had put into place so that no one could track any of their communications with Rowe.

  He had employed a cutting edge ghosting technique that would scramble signals when they spoke with Rowe. And the moment they were finished and offline? Any trace of their conversation would systematically be destroyed from each of their computers.

  As if those conversations had never existed, she thought.

  “Let’s make this quick,” Gia said to Carlo. “We’ll give him the facts, and listen to him have his little orgasm when he finds out that Meredith is lying dead on some random sidewalk, but we’ll try not to engage him. Despite the security measures you’ve put into place, he knows that it’s in our best interests to be offline as soon as possible. But I don’t trust him regarding that because he’s twisted. He’s off. And he’s going to want to know the little shit—all of the unnecessary details. I’ll give him a few to appease him, but that’s it. He knows the deal. We speak briefly. If he goes on too long, I’ll cut him off.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Call him,” she said.

  When Carlo opened a browser and entered a secure Web address, the screen flickered to life, and it was only moments before Stephen Rowe appeared on screen. When she saw him, Gia leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs at the knee, and looked at him. She had to admit that he was a good-looking man—dark hair, green eyes, a dimpled chin, and a body that clearly made frequent trips to the gym. She knew from her research that he was forty-four and the father of two girls.

  “Gia,” Rowe said. “Carlo. How was your evening?”

  “She’s dead,” Gia said.

  He smiled and leaned in closer to the screen so that his face nearly filled it, which gave Gia the creeps. Ever since he’d reached out to them through some random hive of connections, she’d never been completely at ease with him. It had something to do with his eyes. They were too hard. Too intense. Too unwilling to let any of his humiliation go.

  As far as she was concerned, the number of people he wanted dead for an event that had happened months ago was aggressive, to say the least. But that was the thing about revenge, wasn’t it? Ego and pride were wedded to it—and Stephen Rowe had an ego that even Gia thought was unparalleled.

  To be fair to him, yes, the people he wanted dead had destroyed his career and his reputation in New York and around the world. Yes, they had screwed him in ways from which he’d likely never recover. But to take it this far? To order the deaths of six people, including a billionaire and his wife? It was madness.

  Whatever, she thought. It’s also a job—and he’s paying well. So, just move forward.

  “How did it happen?” he asked.

  “Just as I said it would,” Gia said.

  “I want details.”

  “She was walking to her lover’s house, just as she has done every Thursday since you hired us. Carlo drove ahead of her, I got out of the car, I told her that it was you who wanted her dead, she took a swing at me with her handbag, but I was too quick for her. I leaned back to avoid being hit—and then I pushed in and broke her neck. I felt it sever from her spine, Stephen. I felt her head hanging loose by nothing more than muscle and skin. When she crumpled to the sidewalk, I rushed back to Carlo before anyone could come upon us. We sped away from the scene—and here we are now, talking with you.”

  “I want more,” he said.

  “What more can I give you other than I made it look like a mugging? I ripped her earrings out of her ears. I stole her jewelry, handbag, and shoes.”

  “When you told her that it was me who was having her killed, what was her reaction?”

  “She didn’t have time to give me a reaction. She was about to scream when I took her head in my hands and twisted it so hard, she went into the ether.”

  “The ether?” Rowe said. “Thus suggesting she went to heaven, of all places. Believe me, Gia, there was no ether for that cunt. Or heaven. She went straight to hell. Trust me on that.”

  “Then hell it was for her. Look, we need to get offline soon for security reasons. But before we go, I will warn you one last time. When all are dead, some will consider you the chief suspect. You need to remember that. It’s in your best interest.”

  “I’m not in the States, Gia,” he said. “Even you don’t know where I am. I’m far away from all of it.”

  “They can track you by your passport.”

  “Not when you have friends like mine, they can’t. I can get out of the country without one.”

  She hadn’t known that, so she acquiesced. “Fair enough.”

  “I want the rest of this done quickly,” he said.

  “We can do that.”

  “Then kill Diana Crane and Mike Fine next—I’ve already told you that they’ll be at the Witherhouses’ party tomorrow night.”

  “Who’s your informant, Stephen?”

  “Who says that I have one?” he said. “Regardless of where I am, I still hear things, Gia. All you need to know is that I want them dead for turning against me, joining the others on Wenn’s board, and ousting me as Wenn’s CEO and Chairman of the Board. You know how I want it done.”

  “We do. And then we’ll move to Janice.”

  “Whose death needs to be epic,” he said. “And I’m talking New York Times epic. So gory that people can’t even wrap their heads around it. Because that’s what that bitch
deserves after what she did to me. And lastly, when it comes to Alex and Jennifer Wenn, I want them to suffer. I want Alex to see his wife get gunned down right in front of him, and I want him to feel that pain before he dies. We’ve agreed upon this.”

  “And we’ll make it happen for you,” she said. “Now, look—we’re approaching two minutes online, and we must go. For all of our sakes.”

  “Thank you for tonight,” he said as he leaned away from the computer and sat back in his chair. “I’ll sleep better knowing that Meredith is dead. I really will. Thank you.”

  Judging by his pleased expression, Gia didn’t doubt it. “You’re welcome,” she said. “You’ll be reading about it soon. We’ll be in touch.”

  And with that, she nodded at Carlo, who severed the connection.

  “He’s insane,” she said to her brother.

  “You think?”

  “We’re going to have to finish off the rest of them quickly. I want this man’s money, but I also want to get the hell away from him. There’s something about him that I don’t trust, Carlo. And I’ll admit it. I didn’t see it at first, when I agreed to this job. But I’m seeing it now.”

  “Then promise me this, Gia—we bail if things become too hot. Our own lives are worth more than Rowe’s revenge.”

  “I don’t think that it will come to that,” she said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because we’re not going to give anyone much time to react. We’ll finish them off quickly, we’ll collect our money from Rowe, and then we’ll get the hell out of New York.”

  She turned to him. “At the very moment that New York and the rest of the world are trying to absorb what we’ve done, I want to be far away from here. I want to be somewhere else—maybe on a beach. I want us to take a long vacation before the next job. Because most of all, Carlo, I want us to be safe.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Next Day

  WHEN THE ALARM CLOCK sounded, Alex reached over to slap it off before he flipped onto his side and slapped me on my ass.

  “Really?” I said as I turned over to look at his smiling, handsome face, which was dark with stubble. “This is how you wake me?”