Page 43 of Blood Code

“An Italian.”

“Did they harm you?”

“Grievously.”

She gave another shrug. “All right, then. Is dinner canceled, or must the show go on?”

My brow creased. Did anything faze this woman? She was so… unbothered by any blood, guts, or even the mention of death. Was it possible this woman had been made for me?

That Xeniya had sent her to me?

Or, at the very least, had she been made to become a mobster’s wife?

I cleared my throat, because I did, in fact, want the show to go on.

“Want to help me bury some heads?”

Excitement glinted in her brown eyes. “Oh, I thought you’d never ask.”

This woman.

I couldn't decide whether I was impressed or a little terrified by how unfazed she was.

Wrenching my father's head off the banister took a considerable amount of effort, but we eventually managed it and carried the grisly thing outside to the willow tree overlooking the man-made lake.

Keira and I went alone while the rest of my men continued the investigation to find the Ghost.

My father's head should probably have stayed behind as evidence, but I never wanted to see his face again, and frankly, I didn't care to find the ghost this way.

I'd find her eventually, but I had a far more important task. She rescued me from the warehouse for a reason, and I believed it was to find out what happened to her.

And then?

Possibly to help her hunt down all the men who harmed her.

My focus turned back to my current task, and the woman standing next to me. Keira's red hair swayed in the wind as she approached the shoreline and my willow tree.

I'd planted it at the lake's edge after Xeniya died because she'd called me her willow, and I'd wanted something to remember her by.

I also had a willow tree tattoo on my arm for the same reason.

One of seven tattoos I'd gotten for her.

But she only knew the significance of the dandelion over my heart and her initials on my ring finger. She'd died before seeing the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh tattoos I'd devoted to her.

I grunted and stared down at the heads we were about to add to my garden.

To avoid digging into the water, I buried the heads farther back from the shoreline, in the grass leading toward the house.

Although technically, they were still in the willow's shadow.

Keira touched the trunk and looked out over the lake, where waves broke against the shore. After a minute, she shifted her attention to the plaque on the tree, which bore six numbers.

Her fingers traced the metal and the engraved numbers, her expression turning pensive.

“What’s this date?” she asked.

“The day they died.” I didn't elaborate, and Keira didn't ask.