I had never heard Konstantin speak like that before. Voice guttered and carnal.
I refused to be flustered and turned to see Artyom hovering by the door, looking considerably embarrassed. Well, as embarrassed as reasonable and rational Artyom could ever look.
He turned his head to the wall, offering us some semblance of privacy. “I’m sorry, Kostya, but there is a situation.”
“Unless someone is dead, it can wait,” Konstantin snarled.
“That’s why I’m here…” Artyom muttered. “Edward Ainsworth was found dead in his cell. And all his teeth were removed.”
22
Elena Falcone
“I want to know who did this,” Konstantin said coolly. Despite his tone, I wouldn’t mistake him as anything but furious.
He braced his arms on the desk, eyes scanning everyone in the room. Spread out on the desk were graphic images of Edward Ainsworth’s body. He was shot in his chair, then had his teeth removed. Blood dripped from his mouth in every photo.
The household and Konstantin’s men were scattered around the study, from Babushka to Rifat Denisyuk. No one spoke, some even didn’t dare to breathe.
Edward Ainsworth had been found dead in his cell, mouth bloody and toothless. This was not the time to talk.
“The bratok were knocked out, sir,” Artyom said from his position behind Roksana’s chair. “The security cameras facing Ainsworth’s dungeon went dark. No one was seen coming in or out.”
“It is hard to see people coming in or out if the cameras are not working, Artyom,” Konstantin responded.
“It was obviously this Titus,” Feodor said from the far side of the room, leaning against the desk.
Konstantin turned his head, pinning his gaze on Feodor. He moved the same way a snake did as it picked out its prey. It was eerie and chilling.
Feodor fell silent for a second, pinned beneath his Pakhan’s gaze, before finding his voice. “We need to find out who he is. Some low-level drug lord or one of our neighbors. He has attacked our women and killed one of our prisoners. He needs to be destroyed.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Konstantin asked softly.
“We spy on every boss, threaten every soldier. All the families who have been attacked will stand with us.”
“So, because we have no suspect, we accuse everybody?” he inquired.
“We would be out of allies before the day is through,” Artyom said.
Beside me, Danika rested her head on my shoulder. Both of us were sitting on the ground, leaning against a bookshelf. After days of interrogating Ainsworth, all her hard work had been destroyed in one afternoon.
I shifted my arm so she could get more comfortable.
Roman rocked on his heels, standing behind one of the chairs, too agitated to sit down. He paced and swore, looking like he was seconds until he burst from his skin. I understood the feeling. “He’s fucking taunting us. He is showing us just how vulnerable we are, just how much he knows about us.”
“That is not true,” Dmitri said sharply. He sat very still in the second chair, Tatiana on his lap. “The attack on Roksana and Elena followed the same precedent as the other killings before them. The death of Ainsworth was because he was one of Titus’s men and telling us information.”
Roksana lifted her head, eyes darting to Konstantin. She was curled up on a chair with Babushka asleep in her arms. “The child—Marzia?”
“Giovanni has been warned,” Konstantin said. “I imagine the security around her could rival the Queen of Chicago’s.”
Sophia Rocchetti, the Queen of Chicago and my childhood friend, hadn’t been seen in public since the beginning of the serial killings. Not even to give interviews or cut ribbons; the Chicago public missed her greatly, but I knew her husband wouldn’t take the risk.
“Keeping the women under lock and key is a temporary solution,” Artyom said. “The only option is to kill Titus.”
Artyom was right. It would be impossible to keep every woman associated with the mafia locked away or followed by a handful of bodyguards at all times. It wasn’t a viable option.
But who was Titus? How could he be killed?
Nobody had any idea who he was, nobody knew his motives or history.
His motives...
I gently nudged Danika, “Dani?” I whispered.
She turned her head up to me, blinking sleepily. “Mm?”
“When you interrogate someone, how do you do it?”
Danika’s dark eyes cleared at the question. “How do I do it?” She let out a little yawn. “Well, I suppose...I make a profile of them. Do they need a mothering figure or a friend? Someone to fear or rely on? Once you know