Queen of Spades Read online

  Vincenzo Canucci was now the People Slayer. And he was after her.

  The Mafia had sent their top assassin—her childhood friend—to kill her family.

  She read more about the People Slayer, stunned that a boy who had been too sweet to step on a spider, had become a cold-blooded killer. The article talked about how ruthless lo scannacristiana was. How he had kidnapped the son of a rival and held the child captive for a year. Even though the father turned himself in, begging for mercy, Canucci had still killed the child in front of his father before letting him go, to live with his grief. Then, lo scannacristiana had performed lupara bianca. It was a final slap in the face. The term meant that he had either destroyed or hidden the child’s body, so the family could not honor him or mourn at a funeral mass.

  As soon as Eva read that, she panicked. Had they held a funeral mass for her family while she was delirious and recovering from her injuries?

  After forcing herself to calm down and do some deep breathing, she was able to search online for notice of a burial or services for her family. She knew that the public’s interest in her family’s slayings meant it would have made the news.

  She didn’t find anything and sat back in relief.

  Although she hated to do it, she picked up the phone and dialed Collins.

  “One more thing. What about funeral arrangements for my family?”

  She kept her voice cold, neutral.

  “Some family members from Oregon have been in touch. They are asking permission to take the bodies there for burial.”

  Eva closed her eyes. Even though it would break her heart not to be there, it was for the best.

  She hung up without replying.

  Twenty-One

  1990s

  Sicily

  “You don’t deserve your name.”

  The voice on the phone was full of venom. Vincenzo bowed his head in shame. The waves thundered outside the door of his trailer on the strip of beach north of Laguna Seca. Somewhere, thirty miles north, Eva Lucia Santella still lived.

  But then his pride took over. He knew The Arm was playing a power game by remaining silent, willing him to speak first, but he didn’t care, it must be said.

  “You are not allowing me to do as my name requires.”

  For a second, Vincenzo wondered if the words were a fatal mistake. Not very many people argued with Luigi the Arm. Had he just signed his own death warrant? It most likely depended on whether anyone else was in the room with The Arm. If he were on speaker phone, he might be killed just to set an example. A lesson about how anybody, even his most treasured assassin and surrogate son, would die for speaking disrespectfully to Luigi the Arm.

  “As the lo scannacristiana, your charge is to follow orders. You are not necessarily going to be privy to the final plans. You know that.”

  “I was out of line.”

  “You want this as badly as me. This is what we’ve waited years for, son.”

  “Yes, I know.” But you want her alive, and I want her dead. “My apologies.”

  The hard-won words were greeted by a chilly silence.

  He cleared his throat. “My anger on your behalf fills me with blood thirst,” he said. “I simply want to avenge you and yours. I, of course, will always trust your judgement and do as you say. My loyalty is to you and your desires, not my own. To the death.”

  He wondered if the old man was convinced.

  The Arm exhaled loudly into the phone. “Yes. I know this. I know that you want revenge as much as I do. That is our bond, my son. Just continue as I’ve directed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Vincenzo?”

  “Yes?”

  “Know this—you will get your chance. This vendetta is almost as much yours as it is mine.”

  When the line disconnected, Vincenzo was overcome with emotion. He would be allowed to take her life. He could do it and return a hero to his homeland. Because ever since he was an adolescent, Vincenzo’s only desire in life was to make the Santella family pay. And despite The Arm’s belief that Eva living with her guilt was the best punishment, Nikos knew much, much better forms of punishment. She’d only just got a taste of what he had in mind. He’d only been taking a quick break when she’d escaped. He’d made a critical mistake, assuming because of her body weight that she wouldn’t take much of the drug to be immobilized. Vincenzo only made mistakes once.

  Thinking about this in the beach trailer gave him an enormous erection. Imagining how he would make a member of the Santella family pay was the greatest turn-on in his life. Standing against the sliding glass window he began to pleasure himself, watching the people frolicking on the beach only twenty yards away. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this. A year away from his wife and mistress was a very long time for a man filled with the lustful yearnings he had. And torturing Eva Santella had made him extraordinarily horny.

  His eyes slit in pleasure as he thought of his mistress back home—Henrietta. The only woman his wife allowed him to dally with, although it was never openly acknowledged or spoken about. His wife turned the other cheek because she knew very well that Henrietta would do things she wouldn’t do, and frankly, things he didn’t feel comfortable doing to the mother of his children.

  He continued to stroke himself, watching the passersby. If one of them happened to glance over, they wouldn’t be able to see him standing in the shadowy trailer, but he imagined they could as he stroked himself. His eyes lost focus, and he came loudly and violently, his entire body convulsing as he let out a powerful half moan, half scream.

  Twenty-Two

  1990s

  Los Angeles

  Eva double-checked the address.

  This was most definitely the house.

  Eva had spent the past three days staking out the post office box location. It was only this morning, around seven, that she finally saw a woman enter the strip mall post office and head toward the corner box. She wore scrubs. Her hair was teased to twice its size, and her eyes were thickly lined with black kohl. She looked to be in her mid-twenties. She glanced around furtively before she stuck the key in the box.

  It must have been empty, because even from her car, Eva could see the woman’s mouth utter an expletive as she slammed the box shut and then kicked a row of boxes below.

  Obviously, the mail she was expecting had not arrived.

  The woman left on foot, and Eva tailed her to this small home in a rundown Cerritos neighborhood.

  Rusted and beat-up cars had taken over what once had been front lawns. Every door and window had metal bars. The few homes with fences had locked gates and barbed wire trailing along the tops.

  The house she was parked in front of had a small front porch and a dirt yard covered with toys. A driveway led to a small garage in the back. Inside the open door was a shiny, blue SUV with dealer’s plates on it. Eva watched the woman go in through the front door. A few minutes later, she emerged from the side yard, trailing after a small boy in a striped T-shirt and diaper who was wandering toward the street.

  The boy’s face was dirty and tear streaked.

  “Ricardo! It’s time to leave for school! Help me get your brother!”

  A boy came out of the house, shrugging a backpack onto one shoulder.

  It was Ricardo. He had what looked like dark shadows under his eyes. But then Eva realized there was a faded bruise under one eye.

  Ricardo scooped up the younger boy in a bear hug and started toward the garage in the back. The woman went back in the front door and then emerged dangling car keys and a large diaper bag. She locked the door behind her, glancing at the street. For a second she met Eva’s eyes. Eva held her gaze for a second, but the woman quickly looked down and hurried to the garage.

  It wasn’t ideal, but Eva needed answers. She pulled the Volvo across the driveway, blocking the path of the blue SUV as it began to back out. Leaving the car running, Eva got out and leaned against her hood with her arms crossed until the woman stopped her vehicle.


  She waited.

  Finally, the woman got out of her vehicle and walked over. “What do you want? I’m late for work, and my son’s going to be late for school.”

  “Your son? How much did he pay you?”

  “What?”

  “To pretend that Ricardo was his adopted son.”

  “None of your goddamn business.”

  “Enough to buy that car?” Eva’s voice was even. “Also, enough to help pay the rent and buy food I hope.”

  “We’re not a charity case,” the woman said, her eyes narrowing. “I have a good job.”

  “I didn’t say you didn’t. I just figured it must have been a lot for you to let him take your son.”

  “Mama! Mama! Mama!” The small voice came from the back seat of the SUV. The baby was crying. Ricardo pulled the child out of its car seat and hugged him, trying to soothe the boy.

  An older woman walking by in a house dress with a walker paused on the sidewalk between Eva and Ricardo’s mother.

  “Everything okay here?” She said it to the young mother, ignoring Eva.

  “Yes, Mrs. Gonzales. Thank you.”

  The gray-haired woman nodded and continued on without looking Eva’s way.

  “You seem like you’ve got nice neighbors here. People who look out for one another.”

  “Yes?” The woman narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

  “Mrs. White?” Ricardo had finally turned and noticed what was going on behind him.

  “Be right there, Ricardo,” the woman said.

  “How is he?” Eva’s voice was soft.

  The woman scoffed. “What do you think? He got yanked out of his big fancy school, and now he’s at Washington Central. It’s a breeding ground for criminals. He came home with a black eye yesterday. You happy about that?”

  “You seem to think this is my fault.” Eva’s kept her words neutral and measured.

  “It is,” the woman said. “Ricardo was doing so good in that school. That’s all I wanted for him. I wanted the same opportunity that your children had. But you’ve taken that away. His new school? Besides the black eye, do you know what happened last week? His classmate brought a gun to school. A nine-year-old. It’s your fault. And you should get the fuck away from me before I call the police. You’re psycho. What kind of mother kills her children?”

  Eva remained expressionless. The woman said it as if murder were normal. Maybe in this neighborhood it was. The only thing that seemed to bother her was that Eva had killed her children, not that Eva had killed.

  “We’re almost done here,” Eva said. “One last question. Did Nikos pick Ricardo up every day or did Ricardo live with him, as well?”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Ricardo lived here, of course. Nikos just picked him up and dropped him off.”

  Eva nodded.

  “Give me his contact information. The number where you reached him.”

  The woman’s face crinkled. “Why would I do that?”

  “Nikos is the one who killed my family.”

  The woman’s forehead creased.

  Eva met her gaze with a steely expression. The woman stared and then blinked and nodded. She believed her. She must have sensed that the man she knew as Nikos was capable of such things. Ricardo’s mother reached for a cell phone in her pocket. Withdrawing it, she tapped on the screen and then held it up to Eva’s face. Eva memorized the number. She turned to get back in her car but then paused and turned back to the woman, who was still standing there scowling, hands on her hips.

  “I have a good job, you know,” the woman said, squaring her shoulders. “I work in a clinic. But it’s not enough. My bastard husband is in prison. For life. So, I’m on my own. With two kids. All my money goes to Enrico’s preschool.”

  Eva nodded hoping the gesture conveyed respect for this proud, hardworking, single mother.

  “If Ricardo and your younger son’s tuition was paid for, would you be able to get them to the academy every day? Would your job allow that?”

  Eva tilted her head, waiting.

  Then the woman seemed to realize what Eva was saying. “Yes. Yes. I could drive them. Enrico is only two, though. He wouldn’t be able to go to their preschool program until next month when he turns three.”

  The school was preschool through eighth grade. Most students then went on to private high schools. Eva didn’t know if she would be alive tomorrow, much less nine years from now, so it would have to be enough to cover both boys through eighth grade.

  “Consider it done,” Eva said.

  “How do I know what you’re saying is true. What if I show up at the school and they turn us away? I’m not going to do that to Ricardo. He’s embarrassed enough that he had to leave there.”

  “It will be arranged by Monday.”

  Eva turned and got into her car. She pulled out of the SUV’s way and parked, dipping her head to make the financial arrangements and money transfer on her phone before she dialed the school with a burner phone.

  Adopting a slightly British accent, she told the school secretary that an anonymous donor was sending the school a wire transfer to pay for Ricardo and his brother to attend the academy through eighth grade.

  Twenty-Three

  1990s

  Los Angeles

  When she pulled up to her gate, she saw a bright blur of color moving quickly from the bushes. She reached for her gun and had it pointed at the window in time to see Dolan’s face blanch in horror.

  He careened back, tripping and falling onto the pavement.

  She hopped out to help him up. “I’m so sorry.” Seeing him again sent another shock of grief through her. She knew he and Lorenzo would’ve been fast friends. She could almost imagine the two of them riding their bikes together up and down this road. She pushed away those thoughts and apologized again. “You okay?”

  He shook his head. “I thought you were going to shoot me.”

  “You have to be careful about scaring people like that,” she said.

  “Yeah. I forgot that cops always have guns.”

  Guilt flooded her, but she had to keep letting him believe she was a police officer. It was the only way to explain stupid things like her pointing a gun at his face. Twice.

  “What’s up?” she said once she’d helped him up and put his bike on its kickstand. He brushed himself off, his face slightly red. She was slightly irritated. She was in a hurry to get inside her place and track the phone number Ricardo’s mother had given her for Nikos.

  “Remember that thing I told you?’

  “About your dad?”

  “Yeah.” He looked down and prodded one scuffed tennis shoe into the pavement. She couldn’t see his eyes. The brim of his baseball cap hid most of his face.

  “What’s going on now?”

  “He’s in the hospital. He had to have surgery. But I’m scared. I don’t know if he’s going to come home. I don’t want to go live with my mom.”

  “Who is at the house with you?”

  “My stepdad. Well, my dad’s husband.”

  Every fiber of her being was telling her to get rid of the kid so she could rush inside and track down Nikos, but when she saw the boy’s face, she knew she had to help.

  “Do you want to do that DNA test now?” Her voice was soft, but matter-of-fact.

  He looked up and nodded eagerly.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes. I picked one up yesterday. Why don’t you come up to the house with me, and we’ll submit it?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.”

  He set his bike inside the gate and hopped into the passenger seat.

  For a second, Eva hesitated. She was bringing someone else into her secret hideout. The kid would probably think it odd that all the living room furniture had been pushed into a spare bedroom. The living room was now outfitted as a training room and gym. But when Dolan stepped inside, he grinned and ran over to heft up the ten pound weights.

  “Thi
s is so cool. You don’t even have a couch. Just a gym. Are all cops’ houses like this?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

  She pulled out a bar stool at the kitchen counter and patted it. “Come sit here. Let’s get the test ready.”

  Pulling it out of the paper bag, she read the instructions. “Okay, seems simple enough. But you should know we have to mail it in and it could take as long as a month to get the results.”

  Dolan frowned but said, “That’s okay.”

  She swabbed the inside of his cheek, sealed the container and set it on the counter.

  She watched from a window as Dolan walked down the driveway. She opened the gates remotely, and after he headed up the hill with his bike, she closed them again.

  Poor kid. She hoped his biological father wasn’t a scumbag. If so, she would never tell him. The mother couldn’t be that bad, could she? Eva decided to find out.

  The mother was that bad.

  It hadn’t taken very long for Eva to pull up more information than she ever wanted to know about Miranda Nelson. The mother was a child psychologist—go fucking figure—and from her website photo, she looked like a ball breaker. Deeper digging into the sealed divorce and custody court records revealed that Nelson had allegedly abused Dolan.

  The father claimed the mother had locked their son in a closet for twelve hours. Eva tried to contain her rage and keep her head as she read more. Eva read on.

  It got worse. There was an accusation that a four-year-old Dolan was in the room while Nelson had sex with a construction worker. The father apparently walked in on it. After beating the shit out of the man and slapping his wife across the face, he was the one who was arrested.

  The boy didn’t remember the incident. A psychiatrist testified that the boy had disassociated and blocked it from his memory. So it was the father’s word against the mother’s. Because of that, the judge agreed to joint custody.

  This woman did not deserve her son. She deserved to be shot. Eva closed her eyes. God willing, the father would survive his illness because if he died and left his son to live with that psychopath it would be either a death sentence or a one-way ticket to hell for the kid.