I listen at the doors as I pass, but hear no sounds. My attention is fixed on the door at the end, though I’m not sure why:Father Benedict O’Sullivan, it says on the plaque. I press my head against the door when I reach it, concentrating, but hear nothing. I can’t sense anyone in the room beyond, either. Or at least, no one living.
Do or die, right, Tino?
I turn the handle and go in, scoping fast, taking in the room—
There’s no one here.
But something faint wafts at me, and I realize what it is I’ve been tracking all this time—Finch’s scent. Finch’s new cologne, spicy and floral at the same time, a heady combination. Just like him. He’s not here, but hehasbeen.
And at least I don’t smell blood. Once you know that stink, it’s hard to forget.
I thread my way back up to the church, and see Frank waiting for me on the other side. He gives a shake of the head and I match it, then jerk my head to indicate we keep moving down. There’s still no sound except our own soft footsteps, and I still see no evidence that anyone’s here at all, until something catches my eye, glinting on the cold marble floor.
Finch’s keyring alarm. Either someone took it from him and dropped it here…or he dropped it himself as a sign. I stop and look at Frank, who has already seen me stop dead and is waiting again. Fear is punching a cold hand through my stomach, but knowing that Frank has my back helps me ignore it. I signal him again and he’s at my side in seconds.
I nod at the alarm, and he frowns, but then I point to a small sign set into the wall.Community Hall, plus an arrow.
Let’s go, he mouths, and takes point. That’s Frank, always looking out for his little brother who keeps getting his damn self in trouble. I’ve never been so grateful for him in my life.
We locate another long hallway, but this one has no doorways set into it. No chance for someone to surprise us—but nowhere to hide, either. At the end is yet another door and when we get there, I can smell it again: Finch has been this way, and his scent is stronger this time. It can’t have been long ago he passed through this door.
Then Frank and I both hear it, a shouted demand and a low, resolute refusal.
Frank makes a certain hand signal, and I shake my head. That play is too risky here. He glares at me, and I shake my head again, more forcefully this time. But he pushes me back down the hallway and before I can recover my balance, he’s barged through the door, slamming it behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Finch
TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER
“Well, well, well,” Sam Fuscone rasps, giving me a yellow-toothed smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Aidan, who is in front of me now, takes a step back and I grab his shoulder so hard that he lets out a yelp of pain. “Why don’t you boys come in and shut that door there behind you?”
Father Benedict rises from behind his desk. “I must insist you leave at once,” he says nervously to Aidan. “Mr. Fuscone and I—”
“No, no,” Fuscone says, waving the gun around and making all of us cringe away. “The more the merrier, eh? Come in, come in, Mr. Donovan.”
“D’Amato,” I say faintly, but he ignores it.
“And you, whoever you are,” Fuscone continues, “you wanna get away from him. You don’t want to get brains all over that nice shirt you’re wearing.”
I fully expect Aidan to shit himself and dive for cover.
“No,” he says. His voice quivers and he’s shaking under my excruciating grip on his shoulder, but he doesn’t move. “No,” he says again, stronger.
“I’m not fuckin’ with you, moron,” Fuscone growls.
“This is a church,” Aidan whispers. “You can’t spill blood in here.”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” Fuscone laughs, and then aims right at Aidan’s head.
“Move,” I tell Aidan, and try to shove him away, because fuck if I’ll let someoneelsetakes a bullet for me.
My life makes sense now. This whole time, I’ve just been waiting for the moment I’ll be shot dead, and ofcourseit’s this craggy old mobster who’s going to deliver the bullet.
I try to keep Luca’s face in my mind and close my eyes.
“No,” Aidan snaps. “If you want to kill Finch, you’ll have to kill me, too.”
