“Ah! Ah!” Donato said, shoving me toward the church as the crowd moved forward. The old woman had disappeared, leaving me unsteady with rage. Wrath pushed me forward. Love kept me sane enough to put one foot in front of the other. This could go either way.
“You have to keep your head,fratello,” Romeo whispered to me from underneath his mask. The covering stuck to his face on inhale. “Or will we lose her for good.”
The signal came from Vincenzo. He wore the only mask with the mouth open to form an O. Cigarette smoke blew from the opening, as white as the mask that hid his face.
Spataro had been in to see the priest two days before, Livio had reported. His men wouldn’t know the difference if another priest took his place. The conversation between priest and commoner was a private one, sacred—even for Spataro. Marco, one of ours, would take the priest’s place, a man unknown to Enzo.
Vincenzo sucked in a lungful of smoke, blowing it out in slow ringlets, before he threw it to the ground and snubbed it out with his shoe. He dodged people in the crowd, taking the long way around to meet us.
“The priest was forced to cooperate. Scarlett is set to meet him in ten minutes in his private chamber.” Vincenzo acted cool, as though we were talking about the weather or the crowd. “The priest tells me there is an escape door on the outside of the building. I will cause a diversion for you to slip in. If not, there is no other way.”
“Do the other men know of this door?” Romeo said.
Vincenzo shrugged. “The priest does not know. If Spataro has manpower there, then he knows to keep it secure. If not…” He shrugged once more.
A group of men would be more conspicuous clumped together, especially men with similar lines. Donato and I took the right side of the building. The crowds were so thick that we clumped together with two women holding children.
Vincenzo took the left side, disappearing long before we did. There were numerous ways Vincenzo could cause a diversion. He said it would be loud enough for us to hear.
The men knew about the door. A gang of them had crowded around the secret entrance, three layers thick. Neither Donato nor I knew where Vincenzo had gone, but two young boys started to play around Spataro’s men, being obnoxious. One kept flicking a lighter, pretending to catch the other on fire.
Some ofle sanguisughepointed and laughed at them, egging them on. A few more minutes passed and none of them were paying attention. The boys’ game had gotten old.
A surge like a wave almost swept me up as what sounded close to popping gunfire went off. The crowd went wild, pushing and shoving. Some people fell to the ground in a natural reaction to avoid whizzing bullets. Spataro’s men, unsuspecting, were swept up, and in the confusion didn’t notice me slip in through the secret door.
The room smelled of old water and musk. It connected to the church through a cement room. Pitch black as it was, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. I slipped the mask off, hiding in the furthest, dankest corner. The mask was white—my skin and hair were much darker. The robe was blood red. If anyone had seen me, I’d rather keep the fight out of the priest’s chambers.
This would give Spataro’s men time to check before leaving Scarlett to her appointment with the priest too.
I shook my head, thinking of Vincenzo’s diversion. Firecrackers. He had pretended to light a cigarette. Instead, he had lit the firecrackers and threw them into the thick of the crowd. Then he started yelling at the kids for starting it. Spataro’s men bought it. Some of them were running after the boys, threatening to tie firecrackers to their shoestrings.
The door swung open and a man peeked inside. Voices met me from outside, some jumbled, some clear enough to decipher, but all in Sicilian.
She is alone with the priest.
It was those kids!
Check the room!
There is no one here!
The man came in closer, his head turtling further inside. He seemed hesitant. I could hold my breath underwater for upwards of four minutes. I’d hold it longer, if I had to. Two minutes in and the door closed. Five seconds later, it reopened.
Water from above started to drip, drop. One large droplet plopped me on the head, slid down my forehead, nose, and then fell to the cement floor.
They were going to keep opening and closing the door.
If I was lucky, I had five seconds to get into the room. He might close it and then open it without pause. Being in a holy place, I sent up a prayer and asked for guidance.
Then I commended our souls to God and moved into a space that would brighten if the door opened.
It took five more steps to reach the door, lurch it open, and step inside.
Marco was there to lock it. A silk piece of material with a gold dove on its fabric hung over the door, hiding it from plain view. It was long and wide enough to hide a person, if it came down to it.
“The priest told us to keep it locked,” he whispered in my ear. “We must open it if the men from outside knock.”
“That door?” I nodded toward the main door that led to the church.
