[Listen to the audiobook narration]
Tony Russo had been born into the wrong family. Growing up, he never got to play with the cool kids or their shiny toys. But tonight, he’d fix that error of destiny, and he had dressed up for the occasion.
He studied his reflection in his bedroom’s full-length mirror and knotted his necktie for the tenth time. The new suit had cost him a large chunk of change. Was the silk tie overkill? He was aiming for “respectable,” not “flashy.”
The doorbell buzzed.
Tony swore under his breath. He had no time for visitors. Niccolo Moretti had invited him to dinner, and you didn’t keep Nicky waiting. Not if you valued your head.
Soon, Tony would drive out to the Moretti estate in Berkley, one of Washington DC’s most exclusive neighborhoods. The big boss’s wife, Julia, would be there along with Nicky’s powerful business associates. Nicky had asked for a favor, Tony had delivered in spades, and the head of the Moretti cartel knew how to say thank you. Tonight, he’d welcome Tony into the family. Not bad for a butcher’s son.
The doorbell buzzed again.
Tony pulled off the tie and started from scratch. Eleventh time lucky?
One visit to his father’s abattoir had convinced Tony not to waste his days processing dead cattle. The stench of raw meat had turned his stomach. Instead, he’d studied chemistry, a skill set Nicky Moretti appreciated. Tony suspected Nicky operated his own secret slaughterhouses. Tony pushed the thought from his mind. Plausible deniability was the key to success in the Moretti universe. What Tony didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. He merely provided the merchandise. What his clients did with that product was neither his business nor his responsibility.
The buzzer honked a third time.
What’s this guy’s problem? Tony yanked the tie from the stiff white collar of his dress shirt, tossed the silk strip on his bed, and stormed out of his room. From Tony’s fancy suit, nobody would guess he lived in a dingy two-room hole-in-the-wall that stank of dry rot. Tony had invested the rest of his service fee in a downpayment on an apartment in a better neighborhood. He was moving up in the world.
He reached the front door. “Who is it?”
“Delivery,” a young woman said.
Tony hadn’t ordered anything. He pressed his eye to the peephole. In cut-off jeans and a black T-shirt, the delivery girl chewed gum and studied her manicured nails. She tucked a large Amazon package under her arm. A ponytail of jet-black hair stuck out the back of her black baseball cap with the retailer’s familiar smile logo. She’s cute.
His irritation subsided. This wouldn’t take long. With his classy suit and charming smile, he might even get her number.
He unlocked the door and grinned. The girl’s tanned skin, high cheekbones, and dark slanted eyes spoke of Native American heritage. Her smile had a naughty edge. He’d definitely get her number. Tony reached for the package, but she blocked him with a clipboard.
“Sign first.”
He took the clipboard and fished for the pen at the end of a string. Tony had found his angle. He’d hold the clipboard hostage until she parted with her number. Piece of cake.
He signed his name and selected a pickup line. “So, what’s a guy got to do to—”
She lunged at him, and pain flared in the back of his hand.
“Hey!”
Blood oozed from the gash on his skin. She had stabbed him with the blackened point of a switchblade.
“What the hell?”
His hand burned. A warm, tingling sensation spread up his arm and circulated through his body.
She shoved him hard on the chest, and he staggered backward. The clipboard slipped from his fingers and clattered on the tiles. His legs turned to jelly. He collapsed to the floor.
The girl followed him inside and closed the door behind her.
Tony lay flat on his back. He tried to get up, but his limbs refused to respond. He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t move. His lungs struggled to draw breath. He couldn’t even blink. What has she done to me?
The girl got to work. She sliced open the Amazon package and extracted a bundle of clothing—rubber gloves, plastic coveralls, and a surgical hair cap. Within seconds, she looked like the workers at his father’s abattoir. The girl climbed onto a kitchen chair and hammered a large metal ring into the ceiling joist.
Questions exploded in his feverish, captive mind. What is she doing? Who is she, and what does she want from me?
The girl tied his unresisting arms together at the wrists with a thick nylon cord. She threaded the rope through a metallic double pulley, hooked the contraption to the ring in the ceiling, and hoisted his arms and body upward until his feet dangled over the living room’s cracked tiles. Tony’s head lolled forward, his chin touching his chest.
The girl tied off the rope, wiped her brow on her sleeve, and surveyed her handiwork. She stepped closer, raised her head, and stared into his eyes.
“I know you’re still in there. Don’t bother trying to speak. You can’t move a muscle.”
She was right. She had paralyzed his body, but he could see and hear everything. His shoulders burned as his body swung gently. The girl knew exactly what she was doing.
She winked at him. “Hang in there.”
Was that supposed to be funny? Why is she doing this? Would she clean out his apartment? Tony had few belongings worth stealing. And what’s with the medical scrubs?
She dug around in the Amazon box again. On the kitchen table, she unrolled a plastic sheath that contained a row of sharp steel implements. They resembled a surgeon’s tool kit. An involuntary shudder passed through his body. She wasn’t here to steal his possessions.
“You did a bad thing, Tony.”
And he understood. Tony knew why she was here and who had sent her. The knowledge sent shock waves of terror through his mind. But that’s impossible. They were gone—all of them! Tony had seen to that.
She selected a knife from the tool kit. The curved blade reminded Tony of the tools at his father’s slaughterhouse. His heart pounded like a battle drum. Sweat trickled down his forehead.
The assassin raised the skinning knife for him to see. “That’s why I have to hurt you.”
Tony couldn’t bear to look, but he couldn’t close his eyes either. She’d torture and kill him—and force him to watch. Please, God, let me pass out!
The girl gripped his new dress shirt and sliced the expensive fabric. But instead of gutting him with the knife, she ran a gloved hand over his chest. Goose bumps spread over his flesh.
“You’ve got great skin, Tony. Don’t worry. I won’t waste it. Take comfort in that. Part of you will live on…with me.”
She passed the blade over his skin, and curls of hair fell from his chest and abdomen.
His heart drummed faster. Badum-badum-badum! The psycho was going to skin him like an animal. But unlike the cattle of his father’s abattoir, he’d be alive and conscious for the flaying.
The world swirled around him. No! This can’t be happening. Nicky Moretti had invited him to dinner. Tony had powerful friends. Nobody could touch him.
“You’ll pay for this,” he wanted to say. “They’ll hunt you down and kill you, nice and slow.” But nobody could hear his thoughts. Nobody heard his prayers, either. His limp body hung there, his dead-fish eyes open and unmoving.
The assassin raised the skinning knife again. “I’d say ‘This isn’t personal. It’s just business.’ But I’ll be honest with you, Tony.” She grinned. “I love my work.”
