Chapter Forty
Rome, Italy
Bianchi Compound
The night was silent and still. A soft, warm breeze, fragrant with the aroma of late spring flowers and freshly cut grass, ruffled her hair. Ivy smiled at the incredible feeling of well-being. She loved night jobs the most. There was such an air of romanticism to the event. It got the blood pumping and her adrenaline going like nothing else. The best sex she’d ever had was right after a successful nighttime hit.
She glanced over at the man a few feet away from her. That definitely wouldn’t be happening tonight. She’d been around some disgusting people in her life. In her line of work, that was a given. But she could categorically say that this asshole beat them all for sheer repulsiveness. The man was a maggot.
Still, in this at least, he was her partner. She looked forward to the end of that partnership very soon, too.
But first, there was this job. Then on to the next—the pièce de résistance, one might say. Her blood pumped harder at the anticipation. How long had it been since she’d had such excitement for a job? Maybe it was because of the personal nature. Taking out an adversary as opposed to killing for money had its own rewards. What a rush!
“You ready?”
Ivy nodded, jerking her attention back to the job at hand. Time for fun later.
They had discussed the entire scenario beforehand. She needed this man’s knowledge to get them into the house and then the bedroom. Once there, he was to stand back and let her take over. She hoped he lived up to his end of the bargain. There was a gleam of wildness in his eyes that made her feel uneasy about his sanity. Having to kill the bastard before she got her money would seriously piss her off.
“Let’s go.” He spoke just above a whisper, but she could hear the rampant excitement in his voice. He enjoyed the kill, too. Thankfully, that was all they had in common.
She followed him, noting how much at ease he was while breaking into the house. For a man who lived like a pauper, Rudolph Bianchi was incredibly well guarded. With more guards than some royal palaces, this place should have been impossible to breach. But this man acted as if he’d done this a million times. She had a feeling he had.
They entered through the cellar, the dank smell quickly entering her nostrils and making her grimace. She doubted that anyone had been down here in the last decade.
“Let me get the security system turned off.”
Allowing someone else to take the lead was unsettling. She’d called the shots in every job she’d had until now, and rarely did she have a partner. This creep might be good at killing, but when it came to dealing out death, there was no one better than Ivy Roane.
After a series of punches on the keypad and several beeps, the indicator lights disappeared. The system was now disarmed.
He grinned, the wild-eyed look now rampant. “Come on. There’s a shortcut.”
He opened a squeaky door and disappeared. Ivy followed as he started up a spiral staircase that appeared to wind on forever. When they finally reached the top, he pressed a finger to his mouth to warn her. This close to their target, guards would be present. Since this death had to look like a natural one, having a guard see them would put a serious hitch in their plans.
Instead of going through the door, she was surprised to see him open a small compartment in the wall. “It’s a small elevator…an electronic dumb waiter. Years ago, this room was the main kitchen. The house was remodeled about twenty years ago, but the elevator should still work.”
He fitted himself into the elevator, and she was surprised to see that she could fit in as well. She climbed in after him, and he pressed a button. Within seconds, the door closed, a humming noise commenced, and then they were moving upward at a surprisingly rapid pace.
The old man’s suite was on the fourth floor. When the elevator reached its destination, the door slid open, and they climbed out.
Ivy straightened and looked around. Another surprising and pleasant surprise awaited her. They were already in the master suite. As long as no guards were there with him, they could get this done much quicker than anticipated.
Both taking soft steps, they went through a sparsely furnished sitting room and stood before large double doors. “He’s in there.”
“I’ll take it from here,” Ivy said.
“But I get to watch.”
“You can stand at the door and see everything. There’s no need for you to do anything.”
“But I want him to see me. He needs to know I’m here. That’s part of our deal.”
“You can come in once he’s ingested the poison, but not before.”
“Fine.”
Ivy refrained from rolling her eyes at his petulant tone. Putting up with unpleasant people wasn’t her forte. She had done away with more than one irritating person over the years. This man, with his arrogance, believed he was safe. And unfortunately, the fact that he held the purse strings meant he was right. At least for now.
Without another word, Ivy entered the room. Just like the other rooms she’d been in, this room was stark to the point of being austere. The old man lived in a multimillion-dollar mansion, was worth billions, and yet the house looked as though he couldn’t afford a decent decorator.
The massive room held a king-size bed and a nightstand that appeared to be holding more than a half-dozen prescription bottles. A double dresser stood against the wall across the room, and a chair and a floor lamp sat in front of a massive hearth. That was it. Though the room was dim, she could see well enough to notice the lack of color. The room reflected the joylessness of the man who occupied the bed.
She went to that bed, noting he had to have at least six quilts covering him. Rudolph Bianchi was a skinny man, but the bulk from the quilts made him seem larger.
“Mr. Bianchi. Wake up.”
He blinked up at her in confusion, not recognizing her at first. She’d seen that look in the eyes of a mark many times. Waking up to an intruder in your room was startling enough. Knowing the intruder was also a killer added a different dimension to the disorientation.
“What are you doing here?”
And they always asked the same damn question.
“I promised you an update on the case.”
He struggled to rise, and Ivy obligingly assisted him by putting the stack of pillows lying beside him against the headboard.
She watched him struggle to sit up and reached out to help him. He swatted her hand. “Get your hands off me, girl. I can do it.”
“Whatever.”
It took a couple of minutes for him to sit up properly. By the time he did, his face was almost purple with the effort. In gasping wheezes, he said, “How did you get in? Why…are…you…here?”
Hmm. Perhaps poison wouldn’t be necessary. Testing the theory, she said, “I have a gift for you.”
“What kind of a gift? This is totally…inappropriate.” He coughed so hard she wouldn’t have been surprised to see half a lung hanging from his mouth. Hell, the man might not live long enough for her to have their little talk.
“Before I give you the gift, I wanted to let you know that your attitude toward me was most annoying. I don’t make a habit of killing off my clients. Bad for business. But, since no one will know I had a hand in your demise, I made the exception.
“You’re not a very nice man, Mr. Bianchi, and it’s not been a pleasure knowing you.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Come on in. Let’s see if we can do this without any additives.”
Rheumy eyes widened with disbelief as her partner came through the door. “No…” Bianchi gasped. “It. Can’t. Be.”
“Oh yes, it can,” the smiling man said. “Good to see you, old man. You look even worse than the last time I saw you.”
“But you’re supposed to be…” Clutching his chest with one hand, he reached for a bottle beside the bed with the other.
Ivy was there before him, pushing all the bottles out of his reach. “Now, now, now. Let’s not ruin a good thing. It’s time nature took its course.”
The man stood over Rudolph Bianchi. “Just so you know, all of this was my idea. You thought you were so smart…so crafty. You’re nothing but a bag of bones and a rotting heart. One that will be stopping in…” He pressed a hand over the old man’s mouth.
“Stop that,” Ivy snapped in a harsh whisper. “Smothering him could produce evidence that might cause questions. He’s dying. Just give him a minute or two more.”
With an exasperated sigh, he removed his hand from the old man’s mouth. “I’ve waited this long. Guess I can wait a little longer. You know, for a woman who kills for a living, you’re incredibly squeamish about getting it done.”
“Not squeamish. Professional. Amateurs ruin it for the rest of us.”
A rattling sound came from the man on the bed. They both returned their attention in time to see him slump onto his side. Touching his neck, Ivy checked for a pulse. She couldn’t find one, but that meant nothing. The old bag of bones might still be revived.
“We’ll give him five more minutes and then leave.”
“No problem.”
When he dropped to his knees, Ivy backed away. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting what I really came for.”
He slid a giant hand beneath the mattress. She could see his arm moving and knew he was searching for something.
“If you steal anything, people will question his death. We need to make this look like natural causes.”
“Don’t worry. This isn’t something…” He grunted with the effort and then said, “Hardly anyone knows about this.”
“And what is this ‘this’ that you speak of?”
He withdrew a small black pouch from beneath the mattress and stood. Grinning like an idiot, he dangled the bag in front of her. “My inheritance.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing for you to be concerned with.” He glanced down at the dead man on the bed. “Let’s get out of here before we get caught.”
She didn’t like secrets. She didn’t like it when her clients withheld valuable information. But she would wait to see where this might lead. Perhaps she could get even more than she’d ever anticipated.
“Very well. You go first.”
“On to the grand prize?”
“Yes.” She allowed herself a smile. “The grand prize indeed.”