The two men exited the home and went straight to their town car with the tinted windows. Valentino waited until they were nearly to the airport before he exchanged a long look with Dario. “Elie and Stefano are most likely tying up every investigator the riders—and we—have looking for the traitor Santoro has planted in Stefano’s hotel.”
* * *
? ? ?
Elie stood in the shadows just outside Carlo and Valeria’s large sitting room, listening to the two of them and Riccardo as they boasted.
“My papa listened to your conversation with Saldi, just as you suggested,” Valeria said. “He agrees that letting them into the network is better than killing them if they can bring in the Ferraros. They have the ports as well. Papa wants the woman dead and he wants it done tonight. He has a large shipment of boys and girls both, all under thirteen. They’ll bring in a huge sum of money. He doesn’t want to ship until Brielle Archambault is dead.”
She got up, poured drinks into tall glasses and handed one to her husband and another to her father-in-law. “You don’t want to disappoint him. So much money to be made.” She wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck from behind him and rubbed his chest. “I love to see the cargo manifest when it says ‘Full,’ don’t you, baby? When it says ‘Doorknobs’ or something silly like that? We know it’s all about adding to our family’s future.”
Carlo patted her hands and then took a drink. “Yeah, love. No one is going to disappoint your papa. We want the bitch dead, too. She had no right to dig into our business. She’s as good as gone. The order went out.”
Valeria straightened, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Eva said you would take care of it.” She sauntered over to the windows, her hips swaying. “She said you and Riccardo always take care of everything.”
“I told you to have faith,” Carlo said, his voice smug.
Elie took the shadow that led directly behind his chair and waited. Riders were renowned for their patience. Valeria had her back turned. It wouldn’t be long before Riccardo looked away. Sure enough, his cell rang persistently. Elie was certain it was the first of the many bad news calls Riccardo Santoro, the untouchable crime lord of New York, was about to get.
The moment he turned away, phone to his ear, Elie stepped out of the shadows and grasped Carlo’s skull between his hands. In one fluid motion he broke the man’s neck, whispering, “Justice is served,” under his breath as he stepped back into the shadows. Killing Carlo had taken less than a second.
Using the shadows in the room, Mariko stalked Valeria, waiting until the woman had leaned one slim hip against the wall and set her drink on the windowsill so she could pose better for the men in the room. The light coming from the overhead chandelier softened her features and put shine in her hair. The shadows hid any flaws. She didn’t realize the shadows also hid death coming directly at her from her right side.
“What do you mean, the money disappeared from the accounts?” Riccardo shouted into his phone. His face turned beet red. “All the accounts? That’s impossible, Paulo. Money doesn’t disappear. You find it. All of it. Right now. This has to be some kind of an error.”
Valeria swung around, alarmed. Money was the reason she had married into this family. She was far from home, doing her father’s bidding. Riccardo was swearing under his breath, staring at the cell phone in disbelief.
“Carlo, check the bank accounts,” Riccardo ordered. “I’m going to check the safe downstairs.” He turned back toward the center of the room.
Mariko stepped out of the shadow tube, grasping Valeria’s head in a firm grip, breaking her neck in the smooth move the riders began learning from the age of two. She murmured the accepted phrase of justice served as she disappeared back into the shadows. She was gone before Riccardo realized his son’s drink was in his lap and he was no longer alive.
“Carlo,” he whispered and took a step forward. “Valeria, Carlo.”
He heard the sound of Valeria’s body crumpling to the floor behind him. Whirling around, Riccardo stared at his daughter-in-law’s body, his features slack and uncomprehending. The phone rang again. He just stood there until it stopped ringing, his hand gripping the edge of his chair. On shaky legs he approached his son to feel for a pulse. A sound rose in the back of his throat, a protest, when he found no sign of life.
Gasping, he staggered from the room and headed up the stairs to go to his wife. She sat in her favorite chair facing the television set. It was on, but low, the way she liked it. He could never hear it when she had the volume so low, but he didn’t care for television so much, other than the news channels. She was staring at the news now, her mouth opened wide, one hand covering her lips to keep from screaming. When he came in, she pointed to the screen.