The Suicide King Read online

  Eva had offered her a family and training in exchange for her undying loyalty. By that point, the Queen of Spades had become a legend. Not just in southern Italy, but in places around the world thanks to the fan website. But her focus remained on stopping corrupt Mafioso in her own country.

  Now Eva spent the morning trying to hack into the personal computer of her target—Sal Ledezzari. She had no luck there, but she did manage to infiltrate the laptop of one of his mistresses, a woman in her forties who lived in the nearby village. She was the widow of a very rich man and spent her days lunching and shopping. Eva took over access of the laptop’s camera and set it to film anything that took place in the woman’s well-appointed office.

  Once that was set up, Eva arranged for a phone alert anytime the motion-activated video kicked on. The widow was most likely harmless, but wouldn’t it be interesting to see if some of her late husband’s money went toward the sex trafficking ring?

  Just before lunch, she set aside a few minutes to check her email and go through administrative tasks.

  There was a starred email.

  It was from Jonathan, her good friend in California. He’d marked it important.

  The subject line said “Urgent.”

  Eva held her breath as she opened the email.

  4

  He was angry, but anyone who knew him would never guess this.

  Over the years, he’d honed the ability to maintain a steely, composed exterior. The only indication of his displeasure was a barely imperceptible muscle that twitched near his mouth.

  He’d learned that anger and resentment did not pay. What led to success was the careful and objective evaluation of failures and the refinement and optimization of the next step.

  For instance, take the latest mishap.

  Killing the dogs was supposed to be both a distraction and a warning for the Queen of Spades. He wanted her to know without a shred of doubt that she was under attack. That way, when she received news of her niece’s death, she would know it had been done to punish her.

  Otherwise, she might mistakenly think it had been an accident that had nothing to do with her. That would not do.

  Although his desire to kill Gia Santella was, in many ways, completely separate from his desire to punish her aunt, he still needed the murder to do double duty.

  He trusted only one person to do it. Because it was personal—a vendetta—his own dear sister had taken on the task. He’d argued with her not to go, but she’d told him he could not stop her and that it was her destiny to have the woman’s blood on her conscience.

  He’d been fine with the first crimp in his plan—the dogs living.

  And he would’ve been able to calmly accept the second one—Gia living.

  If not for the fact that his sister, his twin, Tzipora Lucchesi, had died in the attempt. Her husband had called and had barely been able to get the words out.

  When he hung up the phone in his study the room had been filled with half a dozen of his men. He’d ordered the room cleared.

  Once he was alone, he reached for his sword-shaped letter opener and came out from behind his desk. Using the small, sharp weapon, he methodically punctured and sliced into his leather couch over and over and over. He shredded it into small strips until the sweat dripping down his face mingled with his tears, and he collapsed in a ball on the floor. He rolled around holding his stomach, not sure if the stabbing pain in his gut was grief or fury.

  After the fit had passed, he sat up, brushed the carpet lint off his expensive Dior slacks, and threw his shoulders back.

  He had a job to do.

  Now, more than ever, he was determined to make the Santella family pay.

  5

  The young woman, Chiara, reminded Eva of a black panther as she stepped into Eva’s office. Her startling green eyes were bright against her dark skin and black hair, and her movements were sleek and stealthy.

  She was extraordinary in nearly every way.

  Her eyes met Eva’s without pride or ego. There was only curiosity.

  “Chiara, I have your first assignment.”

  The young woman nodded without expression.

  “You are under no obligation to take on this task. Even if you find it distasteful, know that I will still consider you my most valuable lieutenant. There will always be an esteemed role for you in my operation,” Eva said and then paused. “However, I believe that you have been trained adequately for this new responsibility. It’s not your physical abilities or prowess I am asking you to question. It’s your own thoughts and desires and conscience. I do not want you to do anything that might compromise your values and beliefs. And I will respect that above all else. You are much too valuable to me to do anything that might jeopardize your peace of mind.

  “Please have a seat. Francesca will fill you in.”

  The young woman sat with ease on the edge of the forest green velvet chair and turned her attention wholly on Francesca. When the consigliere was done speaking, Chiara turned to Eva to respond.

  “It will be my great honor to take on this assignment. The task will make the world a better place.”

  “I know we agree on this,” Eva said. “My concern is what happens after. I’d like you to take the rest of the day off and meditate on the repercussions of what you will do and how it might affect your psyche. If you decide to change your mind—even at the last second—you have my blessing. And after, if you have feelings that come up that lead you to believe it was a mistake, I will send you away to receive the best help in dealing with these feelings, and you will never be asked to do anything like this again. In fact, I will set you up with a trust fund that will allow you to live comfortably for the rest of your life.”

  “None of that will be necessary.” Her response was firm and immediate. “May I be excused? My next training session starts in ten minutes. I’d prefer not to miss it.”

  “At least take the rest of the day off to think about it,” Francesca said. “Of course, it’s your choice, but that would be ideal.”

  “If it is indeed my choice, I prefer to attend the training.”

  Eva nodded. “So be it.”

  The young woman bowed slightly toward Eva. “Thank you for your faith in me.”

  “It is well placed,” Eva said.

  After she left, Eva turned to Francesca.

  “I think she’s ready.”

  Francesca nodded. “More than ready.”

  “What do you think I should do about the email from Jonathan?” It was a rhetorical question. Francesca was the only person on earth who was ever allowed to see Eva as uncertain or indecisive. And mostly it was for show. Eva always knew exactly what she should do and what she would do. Francesca was usually a sounding board for Eva’s own internal arguments. “Chiara is ready. You don’t need to be here to supervise. It sounds like Jonathan’s mission is more urgent.”

  Jonathan’s email had asked for her help with something larger than she’d ever tackled before.

  The last time he’d emailed her, she’d hopped a plane to Florida and successfully stopped a disturbed young man planning a mass shooting at a Miss America pageant.

  But this time, the enemy was even more dangerous.

  Of all the many pleas for Eva’s help, this particular request was most pressing. It had come in through the Queen of Spades fan site.

  Jonathan had quit his full-time job to manage the site, which was inundated daily with requests for her assistance. What had started out years before as a way for Eva to help a friend—stepping in to be the muscle in custody disputes where the stronger, more powerful parent was a danger or abusive to the child—had turned into something much, much larger.

  Eva occasionally objected to the new responsibility, saying it interfered with her ability to go after her main target—the corrupt and misogynistic Mafioso in her homeland. But her protests were halfhearted.

  After losing her own family in a bloody massacre, the only thing that had ever brought her any relief f
rom her grief had been helping others.

  But this time, Jonathan had asked her to take on something that was possibly even more powerful than the Italian Mafia—the Mexican cartel.

  6

  The Mexican Cartel had just embarked on a new, deplorable enterprise—kidnapping young foreign women on vacations and spring breaks from Mexican beaches and forcing them into sex trafficking.

  Jonathan said it was “new,” not because it hadn’t happened before but because the sheer brazenness of the recent kidnappings was astounding.

  Last month, a girl had been kidnapped at gunpoint in front of her friends on the sidewalk as she left a bar in Puerto Vallarta. Last week, a girl on spring break in Cabo San Lucas had gone missing after three masked men broke into her hotel room. They dragged her out kicking and screaming. When the girl’s friends had tried to stop them, the men had fired warning shots into the wall.

  “I don’t know what to do or who else to turn to,” a mother had said in her post to the Queen of Spades. “I’m praying that Shannon is still alive, but God knows what she’s already experienced. Please help me. As a mother, you have to know the sheer agony I’m in. I don’t know who else to turn to. The FBI says they’re working on it, but I know she’s not a priority for them. They rarely even return my calls.”

  “I should leave immediately,” Eva said. “Chiara’s mission can wait.”

  “I agree,” Francesca said. “I am checking into flights right now. But also … something else has come up. Do you know the baker, Donny Isalo?”

  Eva was instantly alert. “Yes.”

  “Her husband’s nephew was killed today. Some of La Cosa Nostra’s men selling opioids got into a shootout with the owner of a dry-cleaning store who was dealing on the side. The boy was riding his bike and got caught in the crossfire.”

  Eva closed her eyes for a second.

  “Send Donny two bouquets of flowers and a sympathy card that says, ‘I will be in touch.’ Sign it Queen of Spades. Spread word that I will pay for the boy’s funeral. And get me the names of the two drug dealers.”

  “I am already making inquiries. His name was Guillermo Montalto.”

  “Thank you,” Eva said. “And please arrange my schedule so I can attend the funeral mass. If I’m back from America. Or Mexico. Or wherever this takes me.”

  “Of course,” Francesca said. “One more thing. That journalist, Asia Neri, wants an interview. I think she wants a statement about the boy’s murder.”

  So far, Eva had avoided Neri, who’d called numerous times since Eva’s return to her homeland. But maybe now was the time to make a statement. When little boys were killed, it was time to take a stand and send out a warning.

  “Send me her number.”

  Francesca nodded and walked out.

  A few seconds later, Eva’s phone dinged with the journalist’s number.

  She reached into a desk drawer, withdrew a burner phone, and dialed the number.”

  “Asia Neri.”

  “This is the Queen of Spades.”

  The woman did not act surprised. “Thank you for returning my call. I’m doing an article and wanted to speak to you about the murder of Guillermo Montalto. He’s the fourth innocent victim of Mafioso violence this month. And that’s only counting the deaths here in the south.”

  “I don’t want to be quoted,” Eva said.

  There was a pause. “Okay, so why did you call?”

  “I want you to report that I have declared war on La Cosa Nostra,” Eva said.

  “That’s all?”

  “If your story is reported fairly and accurately and you abide by this, we can speak more at a later time. Let’s take this slowly, shall we?”

  “You know I could technically report every word that you’ve said since you called me. It’s within my rights as a journalist. You knew you were speaking to a reporter. I never agreed to talk off the record.”

  “I am well aware of that, and I didn’t ask you to go off the record. I just said that I only had one thing to say for this first article,” Eva said lightly. “If you agree to this and I can trust you, we can definitely establish some ground rules for future articles. I have no reason to trust you at this point.”

  “Fair enough,” Asia said. “The headline will be the Queen of Spades declares war on La Cosa Nostra and will be about you—at least what little we know as fact. Just so you know.”

  “I can’t stop you from writing about me, but I trust that if you want cooperation from me in the future you will only report what you know as fact.”

  “Agreed.”

  Eva hung up without responding.

  She immediately dialed her high-powered criminal attorney. He reassured her that authorities in America still did not know her real name or whereabouts.

  Francesca was checking on flights to America and Mexico. She planned to interview the mother and then head to the place the daughter was last seen.

  “I’ve made arrangements for your upcoming trip to America,” Francesca had quietly entered her office. “Your flight is a nonstop to San Francisco where you will catch a flight to Cabo San Lucas the next day.”

  Eva raised an eyebrow. “Is that where the mother is?”

  “No, she’s already in Mexico, staying at the resort where her daughter was taken.”

  “Then why does my trip require an overnight stay in San Francisco?”

  When Francesca exhaled before speaking, it put Eva immediately on guard. “Spill it, Red.”

  “Gia is living just south of San Francisco.”

  Eva inhaled sharply. By the time she’d first learned she had a sister and a niece and nephew, it had nearly been too late. Gia was her last blood relative. Which meant—in Eva’s mind, so damaged by grief and tragedy—Gia was someone much too dangerous to meet. Caring about someone again was not an option.

  Francesca tried again. “I know you wish you’d had the chance to meet your sister.”

  Eva let the sentence lie. Did she wish that? Or would it have been just another person she’d loved and lost? She’d not even known she’d had a sister. They’d never met. Her death was unfortunate but, in reality, it didn’t affect Eva.

  Although she turned to and trusted Francesca exclusively on all matters, in this case, her friend was wrong.

  Meeting her niece was not necessary.

  “It is important I get to Mexico and try to find the girl before leads grow cold. Maybe next time I’m in America I can make arrangements to meet her,” Eva said lightly and stood. “When does my flight leave?”

  “Unfortunately, because of the airline strike, I couldn’t arrange a private jet for two more days.”

  “Oh my God,” Eva said. “That is too long. A girl is missing.”

  “I know. I will keep trying to find another private flight.”

  “There’s nothing today? Nothing at all? Not even if I fly to Switzerland?”

  “You’d have to take the train. The air traffic control towers are all shut down.”

  “Thank you,” Eva said.

  She had at least one more night before she had to leave. She knew how she wanted to spend it. As soon as Francesca left, Eva texted Alex.

  “I have something new I’d like your opinion on.”

  “I’ll uncork a red.”

  “Perfetto.”

  7

  Eva sometimes thought it ridiculous that she had to get into her tricked-out, dark gray Range Rover and drive a three-mile stretch of road to pull into Alex’s secure gated compound. He lived in the villa next to hers, but their homes were separated by a thick forest with rocky, steep terrain. However, sometimes when the wind blew and the tops of the tree limbs parted, she could catch a glimpse of his roof from the penthouse of her own villa. Occasionally, she’d even caught herself peering that direction through the glass walls of her suite, wondering what the sexy, older man was doing at that moment.

  His driveway was blocked by a massive iron gate. He’d given her the code the first time she’d visited. She
would never have considered doing the same for her villa’s gate code. He had to ring her for entrance every time. But then again, he didn’t have the entire Italian Mafioso after his head.

  After easing her vehicle into her spot in front of the house, Eva got out, passed the front door, and followed a footpath leading around the side of the house that was bordered by a row of trees. She knew that some way beyond the trees stood a massive stone wall separating the manicured grounds from the rugged, inhospitable terrain leading to her own villa.

  The sky had darkened as the sun set, bathing the water of Tyrhennian Sea in a golden glow. Even though she was in Alex’s secure, walled compound, Eva kept one hand stuck inside her small bag, clutching the grip on her Sig Sauer P320 XCompact. She watched and listened intently as she made her way along the dimly lit path leading to the back of Alex’s house. A large wooden gate, also opened by code, led into the walled backyard.

  The backyard contained dozens of tropical plants and flowers strategically placed around the yard’s main features: a sumptuous swimming pool with a small waterfall on one end and a bar on the other; a hot tub situated under a grape arbor lit with fairy lights; and a fire pit surrounded by massive, cushioned chairs.

  In a far corner was an outdoor kitchen with a full dining table.

  Several Tiki lamps were lit throughout the yard and soft music filtered from hidden speakers. A few steps in was a gated staircase. Inputting another code would allow her entrance to her lover’s private suite on the third floor.