One Last Kill

by Spenser Warren

  “Callahan.”

  Cal sat up in shock as he heard the voice. He thought he’d heard the last of Alfredo Petrocelli. Somehow, he was alive.

  His calm voice was the opposite of his usual temper. It was stern and controlled, with a hint of heavy breathing. Cal knew Alfredo wanted to scream at him for what had been done to his son, just as Cal wanted to lay into Alfredo for his role in Maria’s death.

  “I take it Alfonso failed to finish you off. Whatever he wanted to call himself, Little Fonzie or Fonz Man, or whatever, he was worthless. No matter who the Commission picked to take us out, I knew they couldn’t get the job done. There’s no one as good as you.”

  Cal remained silent on the other line. Only Alfredo could offer scant praise when the meaning was worthless, given the death that had been strewn about both of their lives. Anything he had to say to Cal meant nothing to him. The words were empty.

  “But I want you to know that, no matter what hole you manage to land in, I will find you. No more second-rate soldiers will be going after you. I’m gonna have to go to the hospital, tell some bullshit story to the police, then go home to Susan, who loved you like a mother, and tell her that you killed our boy. I’m going to have to bury our son, our only heir. You know how much that hurts?”

  Alfredo coughed and caught his breath. How he’d managed to survive the shot to the chest was beyond Cal’s comprehension. How could a man so evil survive a perfect shot, while a young woman so loving and full of life could be killed by a random, poorly aimed one?

  “There’ll never be another male Petrocelli to run our empire. You were the direct cause of it. Once Vinnie is buried, there’ll be no more games. You’ll be lucky if the police manage to find you before I do. You left your precious Beretta behind. That weapon is the key to all of your other murders. All the men you killed tonight, the mayor’s men, all the hits you’ve been given over the years, they’ll finally be revealed.”

  Cal’s stomach boiled. He took a deep breath and let the anger subside. There was no point in getting riled up about this. He knew Alfredo would come after him. He would want a piece of him before the police got involved, so the legal threat was only a partially veiled one. Now that he was a possible fugitive, his need to escape was much more urgent.

  “You know what, Alfredo?” Cal said after a long silence. “It’s men like you who make the world a terrible place to live. You try to manipulate and control other people to get what you want and make sure you stay in a position of power. And for what reason? To have a sense of self-importance? I can’t believe I put up with that bullshit.”

  Alfredo chuckled, only his laugh was unconvincing. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to put up with it much longer. I’ll be sure of that. I’ll be self-important while you’re portrayed as one of the most violent hit men in history once your story gets out. How does that sound?”

  “You caused this, Alfredo. Maria’s death, your son’s death, thousands of deaths are on your hands. I want you to know that I’ll be coming too. I’ll be back to end your reign of terror over this city and to squash the rest of the mob with it.”

  Cal hung up the phone, not concerned with what Alfredo would say next. He could spit in anger if he wanted. Cal was going to find a way, as hard as it would be, to move forward. He would no longer be anyone’s puppet. He was going to live the life he wanted to live. He was battered, he’d lost the few people he loved, but he was finally free.

  He kissed Maria’s cheek, exited the Cavalier, and ran off, his physical wounds nothing compared to the painstaking devastation at losing his girlfriend. He envisioned Maria’s sweet face as he drew up his escape plan, vowing for revenge.

  Get Your FREE Book!

  A HIT MAN IS BORN IN THIS RIVETING PREQUEL THRILLER

  The wrong man is killed in a hit gone bad. A burgeoning drug war between the mafia and a rival gang has reached a tipping point. There’s only one way this can end.

  Callahan Boyle is new to his role as top hit man in the Chicago mafia and has a tough target in front of him. After following his mark for weeks, it turns out that when the deed is done that Cal has killed the wrong man. His victim? The seventeen year old brother of a rival gang leader battling with the mafia over drug territory in Chicago’s South Side. On his quest to become a “made” man as a mafia outsider, Cal is caught between a power hungry mafia leadership and a warmongering drug gang. When the mafia and rival gang collide, all bets are off and all lives are at stake. Will Cal get his wish to become made and help the mafia win the drug territory they feel is rightfully theirs? Or does Cal fall victim to the most personal revenge ploy Chicago has ever seen?

  Marked For Murder is a prequel novella that showcases Callahan Boyle early in his hit man career. If you like explosive shootouts, high speed car chases, and a never ending set of enemies, you’ve gotta grab Spenser Warren’s latest Cal Boyle thriller.

  Claim your FREE copy of the Cal Boyle prequel novella, Marked For Murder, by joining Spenser Warren’s “hit list” today!

  Click the link to get your free book and join the list.

  spenserwarren.com/freebook

  Enjoy this book? Make a difference with your review.

  Reviews are a powerful tool in helping readers like you discover their new favorite reads. Your honest review of One Last Kill can make a huge difference in my career as a new author and introduce other readers that will love this book to my work.

  If you’ve enjoyed this book, would you please take five minutes and leave a short review of One Last Kill on the book’s Amazon page? I’ve included the links below to make it super easy.

  U.S.

  U.K.

  Thank you for your support. It means everything.

  Spenser

  Acknowledgments

  There are so many people to thank for the parts they played in the creation and publication of One Last Kill. This book started as nothing more than a faint idea in my mind when I decided I wanted to start writing again back in 2015. Over the course of the past three years, it transformed into something I’m truly proud of, thanks to the help of some truly awesome and dedicated publishing professionals.

  My sincerest thanks to Shelly Stinchomb for her developmental edit. Shelly is a first class editor who helped me take my writing to the next level. I’ve learned so much from you, Shelly, and I owe the emotional strength of my characters to your quality guidance. I’d also like to thank Michelle Hope for her superb copyedit and ensuring I didn’t repeat the same words over and over again, which I have a tendency to do! Beth Attwood was a life-saver with her proofreads and Dane Low provided an outstanding cover that I know will make One Last Kill stand out amongst the ever-crowded virtual shelves.

  I’d also like to thank my support system throughout this book’s journey including Mom, Dad, Alex, Diane, and many more of my family, friends, and co-workers for believing in me on this journey. Your encouragement and support kept me going, even when my writer’s block was at its’ toughest and I felt like giving up. For everything you’ve done for me during this writer’s journey, thank you.

  Lastly, I’d like to thank you, adventurous reader, for taking a chance on a brand-new author. If you’ve found this book enjoyable or entertaining, then I know the journey was worth it. Thank you, and I hope we cross paths again.

  Read On For An Excerpt*

  from

  ERA OF EVIL

  Book Two of the Callahan Boyle Series

  COMING SPRING 2019

  *This excerpt has been set for this book only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming novel.

  Era Of Evil Excerpt

  Callahan Boyle slowed his jog along Pacific Beach in America’s Finest City. He never imagined he’d be living in San Diego at any point in his life, yet here he was. With both Christmas and his thirtieth birthday approaching, he wasn't sure if he should be grateful he was avoiding another Chicago winter or relieved that he had Uncle Judd as the only family member he could turn to following his esca
pe from the mob. Either way, his mood couldn't be described as merry or happy.

  The gentle waves of the Pacific Ocean crashed against the sand. Families in wetsuits were laughing and enjoying the high fifty degree weather, glad they were able to surf and paddleboard so close to the holidays if they were locals, or excited to avoid the snow and icy roads of their less temperate homes if they were visiting.

  Cal sighed as he spotted a group of college girls in jean shorts and bikini tops walking from the beach toward him. Even though the weather wasn't frigid, Cal couldn't understand how the young women were comfortable in the tiny clothing. He would normally wear a winter coat and perhaps long johns underneath his jeans at this time of year. Despite being away from Chicago’s hellish winters, Cal was still clothed in one of his uncle’s blue multicolored drug rugs and a pair of tan cargo pants.

  One of the girls, a blonde with windswept wet hair and a seashell necklace, smiled at him. Normally, Cal would've smiled back. He was an attractive man and stood a tall six feet three inches, with brown hair and calming but fierce brown eyes. His only blemish was a scar just below his right ear from where his drunken father slashed him in a fit of rage when Cal was just a boy. But this time, Cal had no desire to flirt with the girl, attractive as she was. He felt dead inside and was still awash in grief at the loss of Maria.

  Cal wasn't the romantic type, and it had taken him nearly a year into their relationship to tell Maria that he loved her, but he realized now that she was his one true love. She was passionate, she was comforting, she was independent, but most importantly, she was patient. Despite Cal’s mountain of faults, she’d stuck with him until the end. The end that was brought about when he was unable to save her.

  He couldn’t believe he put down Vinnie’s gun after he thought he'd finally vanquished his adoptive father and mafia boss, Alfredo Petrocelli. Had he done exactly what he'd been trained to do as a hit man - not putting the gun down until he knew his foe was eliminated - he and Maria would still be together and Alfredo would be dead. He’d likely be on the run, but he’d have his love by his side.

  Cal wondered what else he could've done, what other avenues he could've pursued to ensure Maria lived that night, but he'd already exhausted all of the possibilities. The only thing he could've done differently was to leave the mob way before the Caruso business started, way before he met her.

  Maria had been one of the reasons, perhaps the biggest reason aside from finding the truth about his mother’s death, that Cal chose to leave the mafia in the first place. Yes, he realized his desire to stop killing for pay, but he never would've found the courage to ask Alfredo to leave when he did had it not been for her.

  Cal’s heart remained stricken with grief, and his burden didn't feel any lighter as he looked out onto the beach. The morning clouds had yet to part, meaning the typical Southern California sunshine had yet to appear over the sand. Cal’s gaze settled on the group of girls and he noticed that they’d stopped their approach. A beer-bellied man around Cal’s height in a white tank top and open red button-down shirt was talking to the girls. He was paying particular attention to the blonde that had smiled at Cal.

  Cal focused his entire attention on the man and the group of girls. He could tell from the frowning of their lips and wideness of their eyes that they weren't pleased that the man was talking to them. The two girls flanking the blonde seemed unsure if they should make a run for it or if they should stay and support their friend.

  Cal stepped forward, his eyes trained on the uneasy young women. He hoped that their gazes would meet, and they would see in his eyes that he sensed their pain and was ready to help.

  One of them, a black girl in an orange bikini top and faded denim shorts, looked at Cal with hesitation and turned toward her friend, who seemed on the verge of exasperation talking to the man. Even from a hundred feet away, Cal could decipher from the man’s slurred speech that he was already drunk. It wasn't even ten in the morning.

  “Hold on pretty little lady, I’m just trying to talk to you,” the man shouted.

  The girls darted toward Cal. The man stumbled after them. Now that the man was drawing closer, Cal realized the drunken beach-goer had a striking resemblance to the man he hated the most, Alfredo Petrocelli.

  “Get back here, ma’am.”

  The girls broke into a full-on sprint. The drunk continued his pursuit and wheezed as his feet swept through the sand in effort to catch up. He reached out and caught the blonde’s right arm. She pumped her legs, struggling to escape his grip, but the man had both hands around her wrist and his feet set in the sand. There was little stopping him.

  The girl screamed as her friends kept running, scampering past Cal. His eyes hardened as he turned back to look at them. They were too scared to ask for help. Cal knew he had to act fast. But what approach would he take? He’d promised Maria to continue down the path of good, leaving his previously violent instincts off the table. He could shout at the man to stop, hoping that when combined with the girl’s screams, it would motivate the other beach goers into action.

  It was the drunk’s striking resemblance to Alfredo that caused his blood to boil and his mindset to default to violence. He knew that the man in front of him wasn't his adoptive father, yet his eyes saw a different story. He saw the same brown hair with gray streaks, the same bulging arms and shoulders, and the same devilish smile with wide white teeth that Alfredo featured. Cal felt a rage build from his feet, through his legs, into his chest, and radiate into his arms. The tension built up to a boiling point at the top of his head. Even though the man holding the girl wasn't Alfredo, Cal was desperate to do anything to inflict damage on his adoptive father.

  Almost as if on autopilot, Cal’s protector instincts kicked into gear. He was off, racing toward the girl, ready to save her. There was no time for words, no time for diplomacy. Cal was determined to beat the shit out of the drunken man, to have at him as if he were pummeling Alfredo.

  As Cal charged, and his eyes met the drunk’s, he noticed that the morning boozer refused to loosen his grip on the girl; a costly mistake. Cal had covered the slightly less than one hundred feet distance between them in rapid fashion, the pile of sand he ran through not even fazing him. His first was raised, ready to strike. A blend of confusion and terror was written on the blonde girl’s face. He just hoped her reflexes were quicker than that of the drunken man.

  “Duck!”

  In a flash, the girl dived for the sand below, the drunken man loosened his grip, and Cal’s fist collided with the left side of the man’s jaw. He was down on the ground in an instant and Cal was on top of him.

  Cal’s fist slammed into the man's head again. This time the man cried out in pain and Cal swore he heard the crunching of bone beneath his punches. Seeing Alfredo’s face beneath him, Cal showed no mercy. His knuckle clenched hands flew back and forth across his victim’s face. The other beach goers ran over to watch the action. Out of the corner of his eye, Cal saw the girl stand from the sand and collect herself, a smile shining across her face.

  Cal grabbed the man by his shirt collar and looked into his slits for eyes, which became smaller by the second as his cheeks swelled.

  “You thought you could get away with it? You thought you could take Maria from me and not expect to face me? Well, you were wrong.”

  Cal stopped his punches and realized every set of eyes on the beach were glued to him. The drunk slipped from Cal’s grip, and his head collapsed into the sand. Cal knew that he had to get out of there before the cops found out what happened. He'd done his part in saving the girl, but he couldn't take the fall for beating up the bad guy. One major slip up and he knew he would be in serious trouble.

  Cal rose to his feet, brushed off the sand from his pants, and smiled at the girl. She winked at him, perhaps ready to resume what Cal had thought of as her attempt to flirt with him earlier. Cal could only nod, running off in the direction in which he’d came, ignoring the cries—some of support—of the beach goers beh
ind him.

  Cal kept running as fast as he could through the sand and up to the rock leading to the beach’s parking lot. He was ready to do whatever it took to get off of the beach without facing prosecution. He took one last look over his shoulder and saw that the commotion had stopped. He turned to face the other direction, but before he saw what it was, he knew he had hit something hard.

  He’d struck the muscled pectorals of a San Diego police officer.

  About the Author

  Spenser Warren is the author of One Last Kill, the first novel in the Callahan Boyle series. When he isn’t busy at work on his next novel, Spenser is often reading, catching a comedy or improv show, and desperately rooting for a doomed Chicago White Sox rebuild. You can get in touch with Spenser at his website, spenserwarren.com, or by connecting with him on social media. Spenser lives in Chicago.