middle of the desk. The photo of a pretty woman with a pearl necklace and dark eyes filled the screen.
“Mallory Nicollier. Daughter of a high-ranking member in the Corsican Union.”
“Which Union?” Roman asked.
Artyom nodded. “Lefebvre’s gang. They stretch from Winnipeg to Grand Forks.”
A considerably strong Corsican Union, who usually kept to themselves, as long as their investments weren’t threatened. They didn’t have a desirable location, so they were able to avoid conflict more than the rest of us.
“How?” I asked, the harshness of my tone causing my men’s backs to straighten.
“She was shot and died due to blood loss.”
“And post-mortem?”
Artyom didn’t look affected but I caught Roman scowling in disgust, already guessing the answer before Artyom said it. “All her teeth were removed.”
My bodyguard reacted immediately, cussing in Russian. “Those fucking bastards!” he roared.
“Calm down,” I told him. Roman fell quiet but remained tense. “How has Lefebvre reacted?”
“Not at all. His men have been quiet.”
“That’s not nothing,” I noted, glancing out the window. I could see the wild ivy along the bottom of the window. If I left it for a few more years, the plant might cover the entire window, a natural curtain. “Lefebvre could have chosen to make accusations or attack his neighbors. Instead he has gone silent. Why?”
The question went unanswered.
“Any connections to the other women?” I asked.
Artyom shook his head. “Not at first glance, except they were all related to someone in the mafia.”
“They’re all missing their teeth,” Roman muttered. “That’s a pretty good connection.”
Dmitri curled his lip up at Roman, but I cut in before he could give some freezing retort.
“We have three women—that we know of. All killed in the past three months, all with connections to the mafia and all had their teeth removed post-mortem.”
The first women had been Letizia Zetticci, who was married to a capo in the Lombardi family. Her death had been interesting to say the least; it was very rare women’s bodies were altered after death. In our world, cutting out the tongue or eyes post-mortem sent messages, but women were never targeted.
Letizia Zetticci’s official cause of death had been poisoning, but it wasn’t how she was killed that interested us. It had been the removal of her teeth.
Then, about a week ago, Eithne McDermott had been found dead, killed with a blow to the back of her head. That alone might not have caught our attention if it wasn’t for the removal of her teeth. She had been found in her living room, toothless.
And now Mallory Nicollier. A third victim with identical post-mortem trauma.
“Whoever is doing this is the sickest of fucks,” Roman said. “Targeting women…” He spat in disgust.
I agreed. Women were not usually the aim of violence in our world. They were much more likely to be hurt by their families and husbands. But unspoken rules stopped them from being targeted by enemy organizations.
What had changed?
“I still think it is their families,” Dmitri said. “Letizia Zetticci was married to a sick fuck, and Eithne and Mallory’s husbands took inspiration from him.”
“Mallory wasn’t married.” Artyom replied.
Dmitri shrugged. “Her father then. Those women being hurt by their husbands and fathers is far more likely than a rampant serial killer on the loose targeting mob wives and taking out their teeth.”
I did see the merit to Dmitri’s point. It was an outlandish idea that there was a person—or group of people—going around targeting these women, women who had no obvious connection to each other. Who would have enough animosity with three separate families, all located in different parts of North America, to hurt these women?
“The removal of the teeth is a ploy to distract people from something else,” Dmitri added.
“When has anyone ever tried to hide the fact that they’re a killer in this world?” Artyom asked reasonably. “Most gangsters wear it like a badge of honor.”
I considered their points, my own gut telling me to watch this situation. “Let’s keep an eye on it. I am interested in how Lefebvre reacts.”
Both the Lombardis and McDermotts had made a big show of their anger, threatening their neighbors and the government. I was curious to see how Lefebvre reacted. If he kept quiet, perhaps Mallory had been another sad casualty of domestic violence. But if he showed the same anger as the other two families…perhaps we had a much larger issue at hand.
The phone on my desk began to ring at that very moment.
My first congratulations, I thought, or my first declaration of war.
The room was quiet as I picked