Dark Soul Vol. 3 Read Online Free PDF Page A

it’s . . . it was used . . . prepared in a way that’s a dead giveaway. Not that I’d know,” Augusto blustered. He didn’t make his money from prostitution, as far as Stefano knew. His fields were construction, some smuggling, and internet poker, the latter of which had the advantage of involving very little leg-breaking.
    “Any other witnesses?”
    “One girl has seen her. Him. Said she . . . he . . . must have been new, she’d never seen . . . it before, but acted as if.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Apparently when that tranny left, he came over to her, said “Smile for me, honey,” and left with the johns. Acting as if they were keeping each other safe, but she’d never seen the tranny before.”
    A freelancer transvestite and quite possibly the number one witness in a quadruple murder. This was getting intriguing. “Any description?”
    “She said the tranny was ‘shit hot.’”
    “Anything else?”
    “Yeah. She did mention creepy black eyes.”
    Stefano swallowed, suddenly cold. “Get that girl out of town.
    I don’t want her to talk to the police. Make sure she has a good incentive to keep quiet.”
    “Will do, boss.”
    Stefano struggled to his feet again, at once drained and wondering how on earth he’d make it out of the house and to Silvio’s bungalow at the edge of the property. Not while this bruised and exhausted; after the last two nights, he was fed up with being fragile. He fished his phone from his pocket. One message.
    Donata informing him she was safe and sound in Italy. He sent her kisses. Nothing more. The best he could think of. Then typed a message to Silvio. Come to the house.
    Two minutes later: K.
    He managed to sit up and look a bit more together when Augusto told him that the sicario was at the door. Stefano waved, admitted him in.
    Silvio entered, paused just inside the door, tilting his head in a decidedly birdlike manner, until Stefano nodded to Augusto and dismissed him. Silvio then moved closer, very nearly gliding over the carpet. “How are you?”
    “Worried now.” Stefano pointed at the chair near the couch, but Silvio ignored part of the order and sat down on the armrest instead, close enough that Stefano could smell him. Leather, even though he was wearing chinos and a tight lycra top, like he was about to strip out of the trousers and pull on some tight shorts to go running, like he did every morning and often in the evenings, too. Not that he’d been keeping track.
    “Don’t worry about the Russians,” Silvio said softly.
    That, if anything, only confirmed his suspicion. “How did you do it?”
    “I killed three with a knife, shot the last one in the head. Sergei.”
    Sergei. Stefano shuddered. He didn’t need to know Frankenstein’s name. “Their leader?”
    “Yes. Big guy.”
    “Weren’t they suspicious?”
    “There are ways to overcome suspicion,” Silvio said with all the blasé attitude of a long-term student of Sun Tzu, then dropped his hand, brushing Stefano’s neck seemingly by accident. “They won’t suspect me.”
    He’d done what any sicario would have done. Found a way to eliminate the target and then acted with the utmost effectiveness.
    Still, worry and belated fear coiled in Stefano’s chest. “Did you get hurt?”
    Silvio paused, his fingers resting for a long moment on Stefano’s neck, as if he had to reassure himself that Stefano still had a pulse and was still breathing. “I never get hurt.”
    “That’s bullshit.” Stefano turned, the violent movement rattling every bone and tendon in his body, fuelling his sudden anger.
    “Carbone hurt you. Falchi did.” He struggled to his feet and saw a flicker of alarm in those black eyes. “Carbone shot you. I’ve seen that scar.” Low on your belly, just above the groin, to the side, where humans have the appendix. And I’ve seen you cry, Silvio.
    Silvio’s thin lips moved into something like a smile. “And you did.”
    “Me?” Stefano felt almost ridiculous,