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“Is it working?” Felix asks from the other end of the phone line.
“Yes. I’m in. If I run into problems, I’ll call you.”
“Don’t you fucking hang up on me!” he barks. “I want to know what you’re planning.”
“Nothing that should concern you.”
“We had a deal, Az. I help you get off Kurger’s radar, and you stay low.”
“I am staying low, Felix.” I click on the window showing the front gate and observe the guards amid shift change. “I’ll need you to get me a body.”
“A body? What kind of body?”
“The dead kind. Male. Late thirties. Caucasian. Black hair. Six foot seven. Around 250 pounds,” I say. I haven’t measured myself lately, but it’s a good guess.
“Absolutely. When do you need it delivered?”
How much time is needed to destroy a man’s life?
“Two months,” I answer.
“Sure. And what about eye color? Do you have a preferred hairstyle, maybe?” he sneers through the line. “Do you think I’m running a fucking ‘dead people to order’ service? Where the fuck would I get you a body?”
“You know people, Felix. Find a way.” A smirk pulls at my lips. “As long as it’s close enough so it can pass for me, it’ll work.”
“You’re going to fake your own death?”
“Yes. As soon as I’m done here.”
“Done? Done with what?” Felix snaps. “If you—”
I cut the call, throw the phone on the bed next to me, and focus on the laptop screen. There are more than ten cameras installed around the exterior of the house and six more on the property’s perimeter walls. But there is only one on the inside, mounted above the front door. It’ll be a helluva lot of work overriding them all when the time comes, but not impossible.
My phone pings with an incoming message. It’s Mrs. Pisano’s schedule for today. Shopping, three hours. Lunch at a restaurant, one hour. Visit with her mother, one hour. There is an address next to each listed activity. The message ends with a note in bold.
I expect a detailed report tomorrow.
Surveillance of the guard shifts will have to wait until another day, apparently. I take my holster off the nightstand, put it on, and, with my jacket in hand, leave my place.
I arrive at the Pisano mansion half an hour earlier than I need to and use that time to walk around the property, observing the layout and camera placements.
Two over the front entrance—one pointed at the door, another aimed at the driveway. Three more—one on each side—covering the flanks of the house. Pretending I’m taking a casual stroll, I follow the narrow path between the trees scattered around the grounds and continue my inspection. I spot cameras on each corner of the perimeter wall and a couple at the guardhouse and gate. Returning to the main house, I find more overlooking the patio and the nearby lawn.
There is only one other building on the property, fifty or so yards from the mansion. It looks like a garage but it’s too large. I step off the path and walk across the grass, getting closer to the entrance so I can have a look inside through a raised bay door. Itisa garage, and five cars are parked inside. The Cosa Nostra men love to gossip among themselves, and I’ve often heard them talking about Rocco’s obsession with expensive cars. The rumors seem to be true because, by my quick assessment, the vehicles here are worth at least two million. He probably won’t take well to losing these. I head left and circle the garage. Only one camera, just above the bay door. Good. Turning around, I stride back to the mansion.
I reach the foyer just in time to see Mrs. Pisano descending the stairs. She’s wearing an elegant outfit of brown pants and a silk shirt in the same color, with a long white coat over it. Her hair is in a high bun again, and big brown sunglasses are covering half of her face.
The door to Rocco’s office opens, and he steps out, hurrying across the foyer to meet his wife at the foot of the stairs. My hands clench, itching with the need to wrap around his neck and slowly choke the life out of him. I hoped it would be easier to control myself in his proximity, knowing that his demise is coming soon. Last night, I dreamed that he was suspended upside down from the ceiling while blood trailed down his body and dripped into the puddle on the floor, each drop making a wet splashing sound as it landed. It was the best fucking dream I had in ages.
“Slept well, bellissima?” Pisano smiles and lowers his head to place a kiss on his wife’s cheek.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good. Enjoy your day and don’t forget to buy that gold bracelet we liked. Giancarlo’s wife has a similar one, but smaller, and we can’t have Elisabetta wearing better jewelry than you.”
“Of course not.” Mrs. Pisano smiles. “Thank you, Rocco.”
I head back to the front door and hold it open for her. As she passes me, a faint powdery scent invades my nostrils. For someone like her, I would have expected something pungent and musky. Something that draws attention and lingers long after she’s disappeared from sight.
