Her face falls just as quickly.

“There was one,” I say with reluctance, picturing the victim’s face. “A woman. Not long ago in San Francisco. She was the sister of one of Dorian’s hits.” Her eyes get bigger now that she knows I was the one who killed the woman because no one knew what had happened to her until now. “Long story short, she claimed she was in on the murder that her brother had been involved in. She confessed while I held her captive in the opposite room while Dorian took care of the brother—she wasn’t supposed to be there. I’m sure you remember the report.” She nods. “But I was in desperate need of bloodshed. It had been a month since my last interrogation. She confessed and I obliged.”

“But she was lying, wasn’t she?”

I nod slowly.

“That explains the look on your face when in the meeting with Victor. When Victor showed you and Dorian the information found on the sister.”

“Yes,” I say with a heavy heart. “She wanted to die and used me to do it for her. I still wonder how François Moreau all the way in France, seemingly with no ties to these people, knew about me killing her.”

“François Moreau,” Izabel says, “was the client who ordered the hit on the brother.”

Baffled by this information, at first I can’t summon words.

But that isn’t important right now, so I leave it alone.

She reaches into her black purse on the table and retrieves another envelope, placing it in front of me. Leery of it after having just read the news from the first envelope, I only glance at it.

“Anyway, speaking of Paul Fortright and Kelly Bennings,” she says, sliding the envelope closer, urging me to take it but still I don’t, “you were right.”

“About what?”

She nods toward the envelope. “Open it and see for yourself.”

Hesitating at first, I finally do as she suggested. Reading over the paper about Kelly Bennings, it’s really no surprise.

I drop the paper on the table and look at Izabel.

With a shrug I say, “So, why are you showing me this?” finding no connection between it and Seraphina, the reason she brought me here, and quite frankly, the only thing I care about right now.

She glances down at the table, her long fingers tapping against the wood grain seemingly out of slight nervousness. Then she says, “It’s why I asked you if Seraphina helped you to kill. I didn’t know for sure, but from what little I did know, I had a feeling it was Seraphina who helped you with your urges. In some way.”

Still not understanding what’s she’s getting at, I cross my arms over my chest and glance between her and the paper, waiting for her to go on.

“I, umm, well, I thought you might need someone to take your pain out on.” She pauses, unsure either of her words or my coming reaction to them, though probably both. “After what you found out about Seraphina tonight. I know this is hard for you.” She’s becoming more confident, more determined to make me understand. “You can pretend that you can handle it, but—”

“You’re offering me a victim?” I accuse, having a hard time deciphering her intentions. I know that’s what she’s doing, but what is still unclear is—“Wait…does Victor know about this?”

She doesn’t answer.

And she can’t look at me.

“Izabel, Jesus Christ, you’re offering me a victim who’s involved in one of our contracts and Victor doesn’t know about it?” I shake my head and slide the paper back across the table to her, refusing the gesture.

She smacks the palm of her hand down on top of it.

“Look, I’ve never really had a family before,” she argues, “other than Mrs. Gregory, before I met Victor and you—and twist my tits off for saying it, even Niklas.” She pushes the paper back toward me. “You’re family to me and I want to help you. I meant what I said about telling Victor everything. And I will. But I’ll tell him when I’m ready. Right now, I want to help you.”

“I don’t need this, Izabel.” I remove my hand from the table completely and stand up. “I can find my own victims. I sure as hell don’t need you putting your ass on the line for me. Victor will kill you.”

She blinks, stunned, and rears her head back. “Thought you said he’d never kill me?”

“You know what I mean.” I sigh. “Look, Izabel, I appreciate it. I really do. But I can find my own.”

“I want you to kill her,” she hisses through her teeth, as if she had been holding it back the whole time.

I stop in my tracks just as I’m about to leave her sitting there.

“What?”

She stands up beside me.

“I was going to do it myself when I found out what she did,” she whispers harshly. “I was ready to get on a plane last night. I even told Victor I was going to visit Dina—which I would’ve done afterwards so it wouldn’t have technically been a lie, so don’t look at me like that.” She grabs the lapel of my coat and wrenches me closer. “But then James Woodard gave me the information on Cass—Seraphina, and I knew then that killing Kelly Bennings would be a job better off in your hands. You need it more than I do.” She lets go of my coat. “I don’t actually need it. I just want it.”

“Why do you want it so badly?”

Her nostrils flare briefly.

“Because of what she put her daughter and the client’s daughter through, all for a fucking man!” She looks behind me at the barista. A customer enters the store. “That bitch deserves to die, or to at least be tortured—who better to do it than you? Any so-called mother who would risk ruining her daughter’s life because of a man, deserves whatever’s coming to her.” She takes her purse from the table and tosses the short strap over her shoulder.

I search her face for what I already know is there: pain for what her own mother did to her, for taking her away at a young age to live with a Mexican drug lord who held her captive for much of her life. Any other day I might mess with her head and accuse her of just using me to do her dirty work, but I know that’s not it. Izabel doesn’t need anyone to do her dirty work. She’s more than capable. And she likes it.

“You need this, Fredrik.” She starts to walk past, but stops in front of me and looks at me with her soft green eyes. “You’re my family,” she says, “and I think you should let me help you the way Seraphina used to. And now after what you said before, about becoming the shell of the man you used to be, I’ll make it my job to help you. Because I refuse to lose any members of my family. Do you understand?” It was more a demand than a question.

I say nothing, but I know I don’t have to. I look down at the paper and then take it into my hand.

“Thank you, Izabel,” I say and she nods and walks out of the coffee shop.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Fredrik


I couldn’t bear to see Cassia again tonight. I need time to figure out what I’m going to do, because in the end I’m going to have to do something, and I’d rather it be of my choosing than to be blindsided by whatever fate has in store. Though as history proves, I expect to be blindsided, anyway.

But more importantly, more than my need to take a step away from Cassia, my need for bloodshed must be nurtured.

I called Greta minutes before I left for the airport and told her to stay away from Cassia until I came back:

“But what if she needs me for something? How long will you be gone?”

“No more than forty-eight hours,” I said. “Cassia will be fine on her own for that long.”

As usual, I could detect the frustration in Greta’s voice though she tried very hard to hide it.

What Izabel did for me—well, it concerns me, and I’ll address it more when this is all over because I can’t deal with all of these things at once. But I won’t be letting her risk herself for me like this. Besides, the last thing I need is for Victor to think something is going on between us. He wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet in my head when it comes to that girl. Unfortunately, I’m all too familiar with the feeling. I felt that way about Seraphina. And now, Cassia….

Dorian stretches his legs out, one into the aisle of the plane, and slouches far down into his seat. I stare out the window beside me into the blackness of the night sky forty thousand feet in the air over Washington State.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately,” he says, resting his head against the seat and crossing his hands over his stomach, “but you’re really beginning to disappoint me.”

I want to laugh at the seriousness in his voice.

“I was warned,” he goes on, “that working with you wouldn’t be easy. Like you were some kind of Sweeny Todd two-point-o.”—I laugh softly to myself, anyway—“But truthfully, I’m finding you to be more wishy-washy than anything.”

“Well, I could always offer you a seat in my chair, if you’d like,” I say with a grin.

“Yeah, thanks, but no thanks, asshole.” He readjusts his position, pulling his foot from the aisle. “But I am going to request a reassignment after I help you with this.”

“You won’t need to,” I say, staring at the back of the seat in front of me. “Victor assured me that the Seattle job would be our last one working together.”

His head falls to the side to face me.

“Really?”

I nod.

“Hm,” he says sharply. “Wonder why he hasn’t said anything to me about it yet.”

“I don’t know.” I glance over at him briefly. “Perhaps the Seattle job wasn’t over when you thought it was.”

He shrugs and looks at the seat in front of him.