Inferno's Kiss (7 page)

“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 or 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?”

A sickening feeling clutched at her gut as images of those happy faces danced through her head. Her throat tightened at the thought of Isabella.
Deus
, she’d been a tiny little thing. So small and beautiful—no, she wasn’t going to do this. Not now.

“I was acquitted,” the man gasped. “I did nothing wrong.”

“You were acquitted because of missing evidence.”

As the precinct’s chief arson investigator, Salvatore had been the first officer called to the scene of the fire. He’d found evidence linking Angotti to the crime, but the Praetorians weren’t about to let one of their biggest henchmen go down. They’d helped the slimy
bastardo
wiggle his way out of a conviction by stealing evidence. As a member of the
Vigilavi
, Salvatore had informed the Order of the man’s acquittal and asked for justice. Her friend was going to get his wish.

With the tip of her blade ready to puncture Angotti’s neck, she reached into the pocket of her leather jacket. Her hand gripped the plastic sleeve containing two black-and-white photographs and a slip of paper. Cleo dropped the plastic-encased evidence down on the ground in front of the man.

“See those? That’s you in those pictures. You and Romano,” Cleo said as a deadly calm settled over her. “The man cut a deal and pointed you out in the trial, but it was his word against yours without these pictures.”

“The photos are fake. You can do anything with software these days.” Panic echoed in the man’s voice.

“You’re right. The photos are fake. But the information on that piece of paper is the real deal.”

“Re . . . receipts?”

“There are two transactions detailed on that piece of paper. One is the money in Romano’s bank account that the police couldn’t trace back to its source. The other transaction details are for a wire transfer from your bank account in the Cayman Islands directly into Romano’s account. The monies match up exactly and are dated the day
after
the fire.”

“How did you . . . ? You can’t trace that sort of thing.”

“But I did.”

“All right, I paid Romano to burn the building. But I didn’t tell him to do it when there were people inside, the stupid prick,” Angotti snapped. His cockiness was back. She glanced toward one end of the alley and then the other. Nothing moved in the shadows.

“Five innocent children died in that fire.” Cleo tugged the man’s head back so he could look up at her. “You have children, don’t you, Angotti?”

“Yes.” The man’s eyes widened with horror. “My God, don’t hurt them. Don’t hurt my
bambinos
.”

“Don’t insult me, you
bastardo
.” Cleo released a harsh breath of disgust.
Deus
, she so didn’t want to ask the
Rogare Donavi
of this sorry son of a bitch. “Now,
unfortunately
, I must ask your forgiveness.”

“I don’t understand.” His fear was back.

“You are to be executed for the murders of five innocent children. As your executioner, I seek your forgiveness.”

“You can’t!” Angotti’s voice grew louder as he screamed in terror.

“I didn’t think you’d forgive me,” Cleo said harshly.

The man’s scream ended on an abrupt high note as she slit his throat. The second Angotti slumped to the ground she heard a grunt behind her. She whirled around to see first one and then another man drop from the roof of the three-story building she’d rappelled from earlier. Praetorians. Didn’t these guys ever go off duty? Behind her, the sound of running feet said Angotti’s bodyguards were heading toward her. Damnit, even if she’d been a coward and wanted to run, there wasn’t anywhere to go.

“Do you really think we’re going to let you run, Unmentionable?” one of the Praetorians sneered.