Inferno's Kiss

by Monica Burns

  Of course, when Lysander heard what she’d done, he’d thank her, then kick her ass, then thank her again. As for Marta—who knew what her friend would do. Cleo swallowed hard. Marta might wish she were dead. Even worse, her friend might beg Cleo for the Nex Cassiopeia. She shuddered. No. Marta was stronger than that. Besides, killing her friend just wasn’t part of the plan.

  Chapter 3

  A sliver of light from a window above the alleyway made the slimy cobblestones glisten. The rank smell of the sewers made Cleo wrinkle her nose as she waited patiently in the dark. Like most old cities, Rome’s current drainage system had been in place for a very long time, and the smell reflected that fact. Even despite the amount of time she’d been standing here, she still wasn’t used to the stench.

  The sooner she returned to the safe house for a good soak in the tub, the better. For the past week, she’d been so busy planning Angotti’s execution that she’d not been able to take any time for one of her favorite activities. A bubble bath followed by a glass of Lambrusco, Italian opera, and her one guilty pleasure—a romance book. The combination had a way of easing all the tension from her body.

  At least her involvement with Angotti’s fate had enabled her to avoid her mother and Marcus Vorenus before they’d left for the White Cloud estate a week ago. It hadn’t surprised her that the Sicari Lord had gone with her mother, although the idea that her mother might renew her relationship with Marcus Vorenus was unsettling for some reason. A small part of her was feeling jealous that she’d have to share her mother all the time. It was selfish to feel that way, but for years it had been just the two of them, and Ignacio. Now, Cleo was faced with having a father in her life when she’d gone so long without one. Concentrate. She didn’t need to be thinking about her mother’s confession. Angotti was her concern at the moment.

  Her gaze focused on the door a short distance from where she stood. Hopefully the bastardo wouldn’t be long now. Angotti had gone into his mistress’s house a little more than two hours ago. More than enough time to fuck the woman two or three times. The Vigilavi police officer assigned to watch Vincente Angotti had detailed the son of a bitch’s varied schedule for almost twelve months. It had taken the tribunal almost that long before reaching a judgment.

  Roberto, Isabella, Giovanni, Rosa, and Lorenzo were the primary reason she’d insisted on this assignment. She remembered the pictures of five kids mixed in with the paperwork on Salvatore Conti’s precinct desk in Rome. The oldest one had been eight, but it was six-month-old Isabella that locked a vise around her heart. Five lives snuffed out by Angotti’s greed.

  For once she was glad Rome’s three-man court had taken their usual amount of time debating Angotti’s fate. It had given the Vigilavi more time to continue their observation of Angotti. Time to turn up an unexpected present. Angotti was in bed with the Praetorians.

  It was why she’d come alone tonight. She didn’t want another fighter questioning her actions with Angotti. Of course, when Ignacio found out she’d come without backup, he was going to put her on the bench for at least a month. Well, it couldn’t be helped. She wanted the information Angotti had, and she was going to get it before she executed the bastardo.

  The sound of a door opening drew her up straight as her gaze narrowed on the short, stocky figure that turned around to speak to someone shielded in the darkened doorway. She heard a feminine laugh and grimaced. How in Juno’s name could the woman even allow the man to touch her? Cleo gritted her teeth. This was one target she wouldn’t feel any remorse over killing.

  Deep in the back of her mind, she heard Ignacio’s warning to make sure Angotti’s death was a merciful one, as the Sicari Code forbade revenge killings. She almost snorted with derision. This wasn’t revenge. It was justice. She ignored the small voice in her head that suggested maybe her motives were less than honorable. Dishonorable? There wasn’t a goddamn thing wrong with executing a baby killer.

  As the man stepped away from the doorway, Cleo heard the door shut, and she looked toward one end of the alley and then the other. Angotti always traveled with a small entourage, but she’d entered the alleyway after his soldiers had scouted out the dark corners from both ends of the narrow backstreet.

  Sometimes Praetorian tactics were a good thing, especially when it meant rappelling off a roof to escape detection. Of course, that sort of entrance made dressing for tonight a little more challenging. Angotti loved beautiful women, and looks she had in spades.

  She’d known how important it was to dress as seductively as possible. She had to silence Angotti quickly, and the only way to do that was to appeal to his baser instincts. The downside to everything had been the limits to what she could wear, since she was jumping off a building.

  So she’d had to settle for a low-cut red shirt with a pair of soft black leather pants. While she had a couple of dresses, she was utilitarian by nature, and her closet was mostly filled with serviceable outfits. Although she did have a secret weakness for slutty underwear and shoes. Particularly boots like the stylish ones she was wearing tonight.

  When she’d seen the flat-heeled boots with their cuffed tops and intricate pleating in a Rome storefront window, they’d appealed to both her utilitarian and feminine sides. The boots were perfect for a mission like this. Spiked boots made it virtually impossible to defend herself if she ran into any trouble.

  Not to mention the noise spiked heels would have made on the side of the wall as she dropped three stories down into the alley. It was bad enough that the two long scarves around her neck kept fluttering up into her face as she’d rappelled off the roof. But she needed a gag and something to bind Angotti’s hands with. She snorted a whisper of disgust at her analysis of her attire. If the son of a bitch remained true to his profile, his eyes would be on her chest and her cleavage.

  She pushed herself away from the side of the building she’d been leaning against to quietly follow the man, who proved to be far more aware of his surroundings than she’d expected. She saw him turn around brandishing a weapon. The handgun had a silencer on it. Goddamnit.

  “Please, signore. Please don’t hurt me.”

  Lysander would have laughed at the way she feigned being a helpless female, but Angotti seemed to buy her act. He peered at her closely in the dark, relaxing his posture slightly. He didn’t speak but flicked his wrist and used his gun to order her out into the small stream of light she’d been avoiding. The man’s eyes widened as she came out of the shadows, and he smiled with more than a hint of lust.

  Angotti’s reaction didn’t surprise her. His taste in beautiful women was going to be his downfall tonight. She’d dressed specifically for his benefit. A going-away present for him, of sorts. The amusing thought made her smile genuine as she stepped into the light for him to get a good look at her.

  The leather pants she wore were skintight, while the short, black leather jacket she wore over her dark red shirt emphasized her waist and full hips. The snug top she wore dipped low and would have been far more revealing if not for the brooch nestled in between her breast and the scarves fluttering around her neck. The man licked his lips as if she were a dessert on his plate. His expression made her skin crawl. Suddenly the scarves around her neck were well worth the hassle they’d given her while rappelling off the roof. At least the silk covered up most of the skin her low-cut shirt revealed, along with the ornate brooch that hid her weapon of choice.

  “Bellissima,” Angotti said as he eyed her with a mixture of lust and suspicion. “How did you get past the men at the end of the alley?”

  “What men?” She feigned puzzlement, although she’d seen Angotti’s men earlier before she’d gone up to the roof of the building behind her. “I saw two men sitting in a car near the entrance of the alleyway. Is that who you mean?”

  Angotti muttered something fierce beneath his breath. Cleo bit back a smile. The man would never get a chance to rip his bodyguards a new one. His gaze still wary, he kept the gun trained on her for another long minute
before his expression changed to show he’d made a decision. With a smile in her direction, he returned his gun to the holster under his coat. A mistake on his part.

  “What are you doing out here alone without a man to protect you, carissima?

  Another mistake. Never assume a woman wasn’t capable of protecting herself. She forced herself to send him a helpless look. “I didn’t think I’d be out so late.”

  “A woman as beautiful as you should never be alone,” Angotti said. “Where do you live?”

  “Another street over. I was in a hurry to get home, and I thought the alley was a good shortcut.” She drew abreast of him and offered him another smile.

  “Dark alleys are never safe, cara, and you’re fortunate that it was me who found you and not someone less honorable.”

  She almost laughed out loud at his words. The man knew nothing about honor. He’d murdered five innocents for money. He deserved a far more painful death than she was allowed to dish out. She forced a smile to her lips, barely keeping the bile in her throat from choking her.

  “It was rather foolish of me, I suppose.”

  “A woman as beautiful as you can be forgiven such a mistake, but come. Let me see you home, bella. Then you can invite me in for a drink so we can get better acquainted.” Angotti reached out to catch her hand in his and carried it to his wet lips. How she kept from throwing up, she’d never know.

  “But we’ve only just met. That might be unwise of me.” Cleo deliberately made her voice sound husky as she toyed with one of the silk scarves hanging loosely around her neck.

  “Are you telling me you don’t recognize me?”

  “Forgive me, signore,” she murmured. “I’m new to Rome.”

  “Then you’re in need of someone who’s familiar with the city to help you find where things are.” Angotti bowed toward her slightly in a pitiful attempt to be gallant. His rotund body didn’t accommodate his efforts well. “I’m Vincente Angotti. Businessman and entrepreneur.”

  “Ah, yes, I’ve heard of you. An apartment building of yours burned to the ground late last year, didn’t it?”

  He started with surprise, his gaze narrowing as if aware that he might have made a mistake in relaxing his guard. It didn’t matter. Vincente Angotti was out of time. Tired of playing the helpless female, Cleo moved with blinding speed and viciously slammed the knife-edge of her hand into the man’s neck. Over the years, she’d learned how to hit a certain pressure point on the side of the neck to incapacitate or possibly even kill someone.

  With Angotti, his extra weight meant she had to hit hard. She grunted as his stocky body fell into her before sinking downward. He wasn’t dead, but she needed him alive. At least for a few minutes. Aware that she didn’t have much time, she guided Angotti down to the ground, where he sat on the wet cobblestone.

  If the man had been capable of protest, he would no doubt have bemoaned the fact that his pristine, cream-colored suit was ruined. She tugged one of her scarves off her neck to bind Angotti’s hands behind his back. Certain he couldn’t break free of the restraint, she smacked the back of his neck and rubbed hard to stimulate the man’s nervous system. As he slowly recovered from the pressurepoint blow and started to mumble, she jerked the remaining scarf off her neck and gagged him.

  A raw fury lashed through her as she pulled the stiletto from the scabbard nestled between her breasts. She wanted to slit the man’s throat right then and there for his responsibility in the deaths of five innocent children. Her blade pushed up against the fleshy meat of Angotti’s neck as she threaded her fingers through his thinning hair and jerked his head back so she could stare down into his eyes.

  The man uttered a quiet cry of rage behind the scarf. Although his eyes were wide with fury, there was a glint of fear there as well. Good, the son of bitch ought to be scared. In fact, if he knew what was going to happen in a few minutes, he would be sobbing like a baby. An image of Isabella’s tiny little body made her draw in a sharp hiss of air. Angotti’s greed had killed Isabella and the other children.

  The bastardo had paid Luigi Romano to torch one of his apartment buildings rather than making the upgrades necessary to meet the fire code. Worse, Angotti had known the building was a death trap, and he’d not bothered to evict the tenants before he sent Romano in to set the place on fire.

  Her stomach lurched at the thought of how those five kids had died. Romano had gone to jail for his crime, but Angotti had walked away. Until tonight. A shudder whipped through her, but it wasn’t one of fear. It was a desire to break every rule she’d ever sworn to obey. And it was going to take every ounce of resolve she possessed not to eviscerate the man before she slit his throat. She bent over Angotti so her mouth was close to his ear.

  “I’m going to ask you some questions,” she whispered. “And you’re going to tell me what I want to know, capisci?”

  The man muttered something behind the gag and jerked his head in a nod. He still hadn’t lost his arrogance. It angered her, and she forced herself to draw in a deep breath. Control. She needed to remain in control. Killing this son of a bitch would give her a lot more pleasure than she should be feeling. She needed to let her anger go. She wasn’t supposed to enjoy the kill. And despite her fury, she didn’t want to betray the basic tenets of the Order that said every execution was one of justice. Nothing more. She drew in another sharp breath.

  “I’m going to remove your gag. If you try to call for help, I’ll slit your throat before you get one syllable out.”

  She increased the pressure of her stiletto against the man’s throat. The man nodded again. Keeping the point of her blade against his jugular vein, she quickly undid the scarf. He drew in a deep breath as if about to scream, and she pressed her blade into his skin until she drew blood.

  “You fucking bitch! You don’t know who you’re messing with,” Angotti snarled.

  “Oh, I know who you are. I know all about you.” Perhaps it was the quiet, detached note in her voice that made the man lose some of his arrogance.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’d say your worst nightmare, but then I’m not into clichés.”

  “What do you want from me? Money? I can pay you well.”

  “The only thing I want from you is information.”

  “Information?”

  “You’re familiar with the Convent of the Sacred Mother on the coast at Atrani, west of Salerno?”

  “The convent?” The first real sign of fear threaded its way through Angotti’s voice, an indication that some things terrified the man a lot more than the knife at his neck. She grimaced.

  “I know you work for the Praetorians, you fat pig. Tell me about the convent.”

  “Sicari. You’re Sicari.” Something other than fear entered his voice. Perhaps a fascination. She hissed with frustration.

  “The convent. I want to know everything about it.”

  “I’ve only been inside it once, and not for very long.” Angotti’s voice was hesitant, as if he was stalling for time. Why? She frowned but proceeded with her interrogation.

  “Where’s the security control room?”

  “I don’t—” He stopped as she pressed the sharp point of her blade deeper into his neck. This time fear replaced his swaggering manner. “Sweet Mother of God, they’ll kill me if I tell you.”

  “They’re not here, and I’m your biggest worry right now. Now, tell me. Where is the security control room?”

  “Down the main hall.” He sucked in a sharp hiss of air as she slid the tip of the stiletto across his skin in a small cut. “The first hallway on the right and a couple doors down.”

  “Number of Praetorians on duty.”

  “One, maybe—”

  She pressed the stiletto harder into the man’s neck. “Don’t try my patience, you sorry fuck.”

  “Ten.” Angotti whimpered. “Always ten brothers on duty.”

  “Is that inside or out?”

  “Outside,” the man choked out. “There are at least five o
r six more inside.”

  “How many others at a given time?” Her mouth tightened as she envisioned what those other Praetorians were doing when they weren’t guarding the convent.

  “I don’t know.” The man whimpered as the knife at his throat drew another drop of blood from his skin. “Ten. Fifteen. I don’t know. I never counted them.”

  At Angotti’s answer, she suppressed a groan. She was going to need a lot more help if she moved ahead with her plans. Pasquale would take some convincing, but he’d eventually come around. She’d like to wait for Lysander, but Phae was still in a coma, and Cleo wasn’t about to ask Lysander to leave Phae’s side. Ares would come the minute she mentioned Marta’s name, and Violetta would join them because her sister had died in a Praetorian breeding facility.

  She could always ask Mario or Ignacio. The thought made her grunt with wry amusement. Both men were just as likely to deck her for even daring to suggest an assault on the convent. She bit down on her lower lip. Maybe with a little luck she could convince a couple of other fighters to come along. The problem was keeping the whole deal quiet so her mother couldn’t nix the idea. She smiled grimly. Maybe keeping secrets ran in the family after all. She was wasting time and immediately turned her attention back to the matter at hand.

  “Deliveries. Who does their deliveries?”

  “Sonny Mesiti.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know,” Angotti sobbed. “Please, I’ve told you everything. Please let me go.”

  Her target squirmed slightly on the cobblestones. Somewhere nearby she heard a soft sound. She couldn’t place it, but it raised the hair on the back of her neck. She was taking too long. She tugged Angotti’s head back and exposed his neck.

  “Vincente Angotti, you’ve been tried and found guilty of the murder of five children.”

  “Whaa . . . ? No. I haven’t killed anyone.”

  “Yes, you have, and you know it. You hired Luigi Romano to burn down an apartment building you owned. Five children died in that fire. Remember?”