“Go!” she pointed toward the door. “Now!”
“Scarlett,” I said, not able to move.
“Not now,” she shook her head. “Tell me later.”
No time to go through the door. The silk flag barely hid me.
“Father,” Scarlett croaked. “I’ve passed out, all right?”
“Not a far stretch,” Marco muttered, before he swung the door open and spoke sharply to Enzo in Sicilian.The door was open! It was stuck! The woman has collapsed!
Enzo began to slap at her face. He ordered the others to ask if there was a doctor in the crowd. If Scarlett hadn’t been on the floor, sprawled out like she had passed out—and I wasn’t sure that she hadn’t—there was no doubt I would have been discovered. The fabric clung, outlining my shape. But Scarlett had taken all of the attention.
“I am a physician,” I heard a female voice respond. “What has happened here?”
It was the doctor Tito had called to bring medical supplies. It didn’t take long for the woman to start complaining, accusing Enzo of not taking care of his wife. He didn’t correct what she knew was a blatant lie. Not long after, Scarlett was hurried out of the door, and then she was gone.
Marco plopped down in the priest’s seat, taking a deep breath once everyone had cleared out. An hour had gone by and neither of us had moved. If I would’ve, murder would have stained my hands on consecrated ground.
“Excusa me,” a young boy said, his footfalls moving deeper into the office. “Father Lupo?”
Marco sighed. “Check the closet. You will need a pair of scissors or a knife. He is all tied up.”
* * *
In such a rush to get to Scarlett, I had left the mask in the cement room separating the church from outside. I couldn’t take the chance of letting Spataro’s men see me, or I could lose her forever—a chance I refused to take.
Marco disrobed, put on a mask and a different robe, and went out to meet me on the outside. If Spataro’s men were still hovering, he was to wait until the crowd thinned. A part of me hoped Marco took his time. I needed to be alone.
As soon as the door closed behind me, I knew I wasn’t alone. Someone stood in the dank corner, breathing in air, exhaling, but as still as death. I could feel his presence, a demon standing on consecrated ground.
“There you are,” he said, his accent thick French. “I knew it would not be long. You were one step behind her, no? Now you have caught her. Somewhat. If the Italians were smart…” He let the comment linger, shifting himself. He dug in his pocket, flicked open a silver lighter, and a second later, a small orange glow illuminated the darkness. He held the flame up to his face and lit the cigarette. All of his facial features were highlighted. Feminine, but no doubt a man. The rest of him hid behind darkness, giving the impression that his head floated.
Our eyes locked over the small flame—monster-to-monster, not man-to-man.
Lifting the lighter, he lit the sconce on the wall, a medieval-looking holder made for consorting in damp places connected to ancient churches.
This monster was tall, no bulk, but no less dangerous. He waved his cigarette around, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Your wife. I hid her in a place similar to this one. We were hidden in the wall. You were just outside. How do you say…fun, no?” He lifted one sharp brow, grinning. “So close. Almost to touch. Your wife is a fine woman. Even better to cut—she has such pretty skin. Pain is not a thing she shrinks from.”
He bent down, picking up my mask from the floor. His footprint stained the back. Turning it this way and that, he shook his head. “I never understood this—thisparticular ritual.” He shrugged and threw the mask at me. I caught it with one hand. “I killed Calogero. I could not keep up with the Italians either. I have been one step behind since I killed that stupid man on the side of the road. The chase is fun until it is not. Giovi Spataro is playing for keeps with this one. They are nothing but a band of misfits with a priceless gem. Your wife seems to be worth that much to certain crowds. Not even the great Faustifamigliacan touch what they have.”
Calogero was Spataro’s only son. A wanted man, he had been living underground for some time, attempting to escape the law’s reach. He had been successful.Until now.
There was no doubt Aurélien had killed him. There was no question that he was a psychotic demon, but not a liar. It didn’t fit with his MO. To lie means to be afraid. And monsters don’t fear. And since he killed Calogero, there was no doubt that the price on my head was worth more than anything my wife could offer—even information. Spataro would want me brought in alive, so he could take the heart from my chest. If he knew any better, he’d know that he already had it.
“Let me guess,” I said, taking a relaxing stance a few steps down from him, shoulder against the wall. “You took his heart.”
“Ah.” Aurélien pointed the cigarette at me. “Simple enough. Giovi Spataro will not question who did it.You.Of course. This is why I call you the dragon, yes? The Italian is easily angered, but he will forgive me in light of this. This way, the French is not to blame. He does not have the manpower to stop yourfamille. Neither do the French. But the idiot Giovi Spataro does not think things through.”
If they assumed that myfamigliawas going to send in more reinforcements, how wrong they were.
He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and sucked it dry while he applauded. One. Two. Three claps. “Bravo, Dragon.” He blew out a lungful. “You also managed to kill one of the most ruthless leaders in Frenchhistoire! I did not like him. Personally.” He shrugged once, eyes narrowing into seriousness, or maybe assessment.
Ten drops of water landed on the ground, all with quietplops, before he stood taller, throwing the end of the cigarette into a puddle that had formed. The cherry expired with a hiss and one line of white smoke.
“Nemours did not mention how beautiful you are. You are dangerously so. But,” he shrugged once more, “his tastes are different from mine. I can tell…you and the woman are good in the bed together.” He looked me over and licked his lips.
The air changed between us. Grew more charged. One of us was going to be the hunter, the other the kill. I couldn’t imagine this man in the same state with my wife, much less the same room. The Italians taking her had been a blessing.
