Page 1
CHAPTER 1
SCAR
YUP, SHE’S ALREADY KILLING PEOPLE…
Nothing itched quite like dried blood. Well, dried cum was a bitch too.
Try as I might to keep my jobs relatively clean, some assholes didn’t give me an option. Like, damn, just because a dress showed off my thighs didn’t mean I wanted them touched. It had worked out fine tonight since my mark’s prints were needed to open the safe. Easier to carry a severed hand than drag a body. Problem was that now I had to walk home looking like an extra from a horror film.
The night air carried the sounds of laughter and conversation from citizens none the wiser to the fact that a killer walked among them. Saliva pooled in my mouth from the aromas wafting off the local food vendors’ stalls. I hoped Matsumura’s death was painful because the fucker was keeping me from some of my favorite late-night snacks.
It wouldn’t be long before his men were out searching, offering money to anyone with information. The thought had me digging into my pocket for my phone. Tapping into their security network was child’s play, and they still hadn’t discovered the breach. A pixilated video popped up on the screen. The static made it look like the men were in a snowstorm, losing their minds over their deceased leader lying there with a missing limb. There wasn’t any sound, but it was easy enough to tell I’d be in deep shit if I stayed out in the open too long.
I tugged at my hood, drawing it farther over my face. Thank God for the poor lighting in this section of the city because my blood-spattered clothing and limp were pretty large red flags. Most of Tokyo was bright and alive, but if you found the right parts, you’d be greeted with my favorite things: darkness and death. Those two held me tight, like a mother’s warm embrace.
Not that I’d know what that was like.
Keeping my head ducked, I shuffled through the familiar streets, favoring my left side. Every step sent blood seeping into the field dressing. A prickle of irritation ran through me as another round of buzzing went off, making it the fifth call in a row. There was only one person who’d attempt shit like that with me. I rounded the corner of an abandoned alley and ducked into a darkened doorway, holding my breath against the stench of whatever coated the walls and floor.
“What? Make it fuckin’ quick,” I snapped.
My nerves ratcheted higher as the distant sound of shouts hit my ears. It wasn’t ideal to be here, partly exposed, not fifteen minutes after robbing and murdering a Japanese drug lord. But it was evident he wouldn’t stop calling until I answered.
“Bella,” Enzo replied, drawing out the term of affection. His Italian accent was smooth and comforting in my ear. The palm of my hand stung as my nails dug into the calloused flesh, attempting to keep my mind clear and my senses sharp. I hated how he tried to disarm me, acting as if his phone calls weren’t prison sentences.
“Enzo, what the fuck could you possibly need from me?” I bit out, hating that I still had a handler at twenty-seven. The gray strands that insisted on popping up amid my brunette locks were thanks to the stress he—no, they—brought into my world.
“I came by your apartment yesterday. And then again tonight. You weren’t there. Where are you, Bella?”
My eyes rolled at his prying.
“Enzo, I might be at Dominick’s beck and call, but I don’t have to give you a fucking play-by-play of my life. I don’t sit around on my ass, waiting for the Mafia don to summon me for a job,” I shot back.
Years ago, I diversified my career and skill set because the New York Italian Mafia didn’t pay me jack shit. Dominick said the work I did for him was paying off my father’s debt. So, while Scarletta Romano might be under the Mafia’s thumb, my alias, Cain, was available for hire to anyone with a sizable enough bank account. Or something worth trading for.
Tonight’s client was one such person.
Two million. That was my price to take out Matsumura. The former Yakuza member made the mistake of becoming too powerful in Japan’s criminal underground, all without their permission. Had he still been active Yakuza, my client would’ve had to seek someone else to take the kingpin’s life. The Yakuza’s position as one of the Four Families in New York ensured their safety. Although, truthfully, they wouldn’t know who attacked them if I’d decided to. But I kept the peace just the same, not willing to risk my uncle finding out about my side gig.
My eventual key to freedom.
“Did you hear me, Scarletta?” he asked tightly, his words pulling me back to reality.
“No, I wasn’t listening, Enzo. I’m busy. Now get to the point of your call,” I snapped, poking my head out to glance down the alley. I needed to move.
“Bella, what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Busy with what? Or who? Are you with someone?”
Concern was rich coming from him. Enzo still told me sweet nothings, trying to string me along. While we’d dated, I believed those pretty little lies. Faux promises of loyalty to me—of caring for me. Fuck, at one point, I was stupid enough to assume he loved me. But it was all bullshit. The affection was a lie, and I’d believed it hook, line, and sinker. All to stave off my emotional drowning of feeling alone.
Uncared for. Unwanted.
He’d painted this picture that we were in this life together. But under the facade of the fantasy was the truth.
No one was fucking saving me but me.
Looking back, it was ironic that I’d thought Enzo cared for me. He was only loyal to my asshole of an uncle. I was nothing more than a tool to both of them.
My lids closed under the emotional heaviness settling in. I avoided talking to Enzo for this very reason. Speaking with him threw salt onto a still-fresh wound. I swore he sensed when the damage he’d caused was finally scabbing over, and he’d pop back in to peel off the protective flesh.
