Page 104 of Her Guardian
“Of course I am,” he sneers. “But it would make for a much better show if you were begging for your life the entire time.”
The man reaches through the cage and grabs Lea’s arm. I grab her other one and try to hold on, but he drags her out of my grasp.
“Let go of her, you bastard!” I scream, nearly tearing the skin off my leg as I yank on the chain.
“I’m not going to kill her yet,” the man growls, pulling a knife out of his pocket and dragging a bucket over by the cage. “I just need her blood.”
Lea fights against him, but his grip is too strong. I can’t get to her. All I can do is watch helplessly as he digs the knife into her arm, and blood streams into the bucket. Blood. That’s what the Mafia Prince Killer uses to write his messages. I glance at the wall behind us. The one framed perfectly by the video camera. It’s not only bare, but appears to have been cleaned. It shimmers more than the others.
“You better hope Massimo never finds you,” Lea spits out, grimacing as her blood continues to trickle down her arm.
“Oh, I’m counting on him coming for his wife,” the man snickers. “I expect Massimo Morandi to bring an army.”
“Won’t just be an army,” I mutter.
“You’re talking about Big Boyd, aren’t you?” the man says. “That’s the only reason we took you. The Bratva has some unfinished business with that asshole.”
I stare the man down, watching helplessly as he extracts Lea’s blood.
“And when they come for you, we’ll be ready,” he grins, shoving Lea’s arm back through the cage and picking up the bucket.
The man walks around the cage, then picks up a paintbrush and dips into Lea’s blood. He starts writing on the wall and I do my best to console my best friend, holding my hand over her wound to apply pressure that I hope will stop the bleeding.
“Sarah, you should be thrilled right now,” he comments as he drags the paintbrush across the wall and gestures toward the camera. “Your final podcast is going to break the Internet. A live stream of the Mafia Prince Killer’s swansong.”
He steps back from the wall and my eyes get wide when I see his message.
Farewell, Las Vegas. It’s time to go all in.
“All in?” I question. “What the hell does that mean?”
The man walks over to the camera and presses a button, then he moves to a table, opening a laptop. He’s blocking most of the screen, but I can see enough to recognize my own podcast. He sets everything up, just like I would, then I see a countdown. Two hours until my next podcast—and I’m going live.
“You’re a sick bastard,” I mutter, checking on Lea again before turning my attention back to our captor. “You know Lea’s pregnant. You’re really going to kill an innocent child?”
“Massimo Morandi’s child will never beinnocent,” the man snarls. “He’ll grow up to sit in his father’s throne, just like Massimo.”
“It’s a boy?” Lea whispers, glancing nervously at me.
“You didn’t know yet?” the man asks. “Congratulations, you’ve got a Mafia prince growing inside you. But not for much longer.”
The man in black walks around to the front of the cage. He places the remote on the floor and sits cross-legged, staring us down for several seconds before he reaches up and unfastens his mask. I blink in confusion as he reveals his face, because it’s one I know well.
“Arthur Dykstra?” I question, shaking my head. “No, you’re supposed to be in prison! I thought you were framed!”
“You mean the decoy sitting in solitary confinement in New York?” he laughs. “No, I fucked up during the last kill in New York. Somebody saw me and ratted me out to the cops. But I had some guardian angels watching over me. Someone more invested in my work than I was.”
“Solitude…” I suck in a breath.
“Exactly,” Dykstra says. “They got in contact right before the cops raided my safehouse. Already had a decoy, ready to quietly take the fall in my place. Dead man’s switch. Wish I’d thought of that. They even hacked my old military records. When the cops ran the decoy’s fingerprints and DNA, it was a perfect match.”
Lea glares at him but doesn’t say anything. I keep pressure on her arm.
“So now, instead of killing for revenge, you just do the Bratva’s dirty work?” I ask. “You realize that’s what this is, right? Same thing happened in Chicago, New Jersey, and New York. You took out a few crime bosses and then the Bratva moved in. You think they’re any better than the guys you sent to prison after killing their children?”
“It started as vengeance, yes. No real exit strategy. I just wanted to do as much damage as I could after I lost my wife,” he says, leaning forward. “I assumed I’d get caught eventually. I made a mistake in Chicago and left some evidence behind. Now that evidence will exonerate me. Well, exonerate the decoy, but it’ll clear my name.”
“Solitude and the Bratva will take the blame,” I deduce, shaking my head. “And we’ll be dead.”
