"It hurts like hell but I can use it. That's all that matters."
"You look terrible. When's the last time you actually slept?"
"Sleep is for people who aren't watching everything fall apart." I took the coffee. Drank it black and too hot. "What time are we seeing Father Benedetto?"
"Eight. He's expecting us. I called ahead, told him it was urgent. That we had evidence of serious violations that required immediate Council attention."
"And he believed you?"
"I may have mentioned it involved murder of a Council Don and conspiracy. That got his attention pretty quick."
I stood. My arm protested but I ignored it. Crossed to where Marco had left clean clothes.
"Help me with the shirt. Can't get my left arm through without tearing stitches."
Marco helped me dress. We'd been friends long enough that the assistance wasn't awkward. He'd seen me in worse shape. Had patched me up after fights. Had covered for me countless times.
"After this is over, assuming we survive, I'm retiring from this life." Marco's voice was light but serious underneath. "Going to buy a beach bar in the Caribbean. Serve drinks to tourists. Never think about mafia politics again."
"Can I come visit?"
"Only if you bring Aria and leave the drama in New York."
"Deal."
We drove to Father Benedetto's residence just after seven. The priest lived in a modest home near his church. Nothing ostentatious. Nothing that screamed power or wealth.
But Father Benedetto had more influence than most people realized. He'd been friends with my mother. Had known both my parents since they were young. Had watched me grow up and, I suspected, knew more about my father's sins than he'd ever admitted publicly.
Marco parked. We walked to the door. I knocked.
Father Benedetto opened it himself. He was in his sixties, hair gone silver, wearing simple black clothes. His face was kind but his eyes were sharp. Missing nothing.
Those eyes took in my bandaged arm. The exhaustion written all over my face. The desperation I was trying to hide.
"Kai. Come in, my son. You look like you've been through hell."
"Feels like it too, Father."
He ushered us into his study. Simple space. Books lining the walls. A desk covered in papers. Crucifix on the wall. Everything neat and organized.
"Sit. Both of you. Tell me what's so urgent that you're here before eight in the morning looking like death."
I sat. Marco stood by the door. I pulled out the recording device.
"I need you to listen to something. It's a conversation between my father and Vincent Romano from the night Antonio Romano was killed. It proves they conspired to murder him so my father could marry Aria."
Father Benedetto's expression went grave. He'd known Antonio. Had respected him.
"That's a serious accusation, Kai. The kind that could start a war if you're wrong."
"I'm not wrong. Just listen."
I played the recording. Watched Father Benedetto's face go from serious to shocked to pale as he heard Vincent panicking. My father giving orders for murder. The confirmation after Antonio was dead.
When it ended, silence filled the room.
Father Benedetto sat back in his chair. Aged ten years in ten minutes.
