There's been enough death.
“Move back into the church, Rossetti,” Fuscone says loudly.
We hear footsteps retreating, and when Marco speaks next, he’s much further away. “Alright. Come on out.”
“Okay,” Fuscone says, wagging his gun. “Move, you two. Slowly, now.”
I reach behind me for the door handle, fumbling with it. No way am I turning my back on this asshole, and Aidan has the same idea, backing away with me as we make our way down the hall. Fuscone keeps his distance, wary of us, and we go slowly, carefully, playing for time. I have no idea why fucking Aidan O’Leary is playing protector, like it’s his duty or something. All it’s going to mean is two dead bodies rather than one.
“You should run when you can,” I murmur at him.
“No,” he whispers.
“For fuck’s sake, this guy is not gonna spare you just because you’re a Christian soldier.”
“God will be our shield,” Aidan says stubbornly, and I want to kill him my damn self.
“God doesn’t do great with bullets, in my experience. But hey, if you’re that desperate to get to the Pearly Gates today, you do you, buddy.”
We inch out of the hallway together, Aidan still spreading his arms across me like he's giving a benediction. I'm still hanging onto his shoulder, though not so tight now. When we’re out of the hallway, I glance to the left at Marco, who gives me a reassuring nod.
Within moments, Fuscone is out as well, glancing back and forth between me and Aidan and Marco, Father Benedict behind him, wringing his hands. “Alright,” Fuscone says. “Let's get moving.”
We continue on our bizarre journey, Aidan and me walking backwards, but along the way I pull the silent alarm keyring out of my pocket and drop it to the floor behind me. It makes a scraping clatter as it hits the ground, but I pretend to stumble at the same time so Fuscone doesn't notice.
If I know the way the Morelli Family works, Luca is already on his way here. There is no way Marco would be making this play if he didn't know that.
The problem is, I don't want Luca turning up just to get shot as well.
* * *
The women are gonefrom the church hall. “I sent the ladies home,” Marco comments, seeing the way Aidan and I glance fearfully around the room. “Figured that was the best thing to do.”
Aidan looks relieved. Father Benedict looks like he couldn't care less. “I could have the police here in two minutes,” the old priest snarls, “so why don't you all just leave—”
“No cops,” Fuscone and Marco say together.
“Why don't we all sit down,” Marco suggests. He sets an example by pulling up a seat himself and crossing his legs, his gun trained on Fuscone, who is pointing his own at us still.
“Is that homo Boss of yours on his way?” Fuscone demands. “I hope so. Two dead queers is better than none.”
“That’s just rude,” I say. “Really, Sammy. Homophobia is so 2008.”
Everyone stares at me, even Aidan, who has to jerk his neck around to get a look at me.
The thing is, I’m tired of this. I’m tired of being in danger all the time, I’m tired of being the pretty princess my poor husband has to rescue, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna stand here and let some asshole shoot me. I don’t have the same faith in God that Aidan does to protect me, let alone anyone else in this room, and I have no weapons.
But I do have my mouth. And I know how to use it.
“You think you’re King Shit, but you’re just a dead shit,” Fuscone tells me. “Well, Rossetti? You let that queer know his ladyboy was about to eat lead?”
“Boss trusts me to handle these sorta things myself. I wouldn’t be much of a bodyguard if I couldn’t.”
Aidan is distracted by the conversation, and I take the opportunity to shove him aside. He stumbles into a nearby table and the loud shoving of its legs across the floor makes Fuscone wave the gun around wildly before aiming it back at me.
I see it then: Fuscone’s hand is shaking. He’s scared shitless. At least as scared as I am.
He should be.
