When I purse my lips, he sighs. “One hundred ten percent, okay? If you want an audience with Edon Berisha at his weakest, it’s tomorrow after lunch at one. Gallbladder surgery. He told everyone it was next week, but they did a switcheroo.”
“Paranoid bastards,” Sebastian mutters, twirling his penknife over his knuckles.
I scroll through the emails on my phone.
Edon has pushed all our meetings to next month, claiming he’s traveling. It’s consistent with Aleksei’s intel.
“You aren’t the only one with enemies,” Sofia says as she drags one of the floor plans across the table. “I’m sure he’ll be heavily protected. Powerful men always are at their weakest.”
“Distraction?” Sebastian furrows his brows, staring at the diagram we drew up. Roles are assigned. We’re just missing the entry plan. “Power outage is out of the question. They have backup generators. We can accost him in the room, but you’ll be passing through security cameras and people. Don’t even think about wearing strange masks.”
“I can take out the cameras,” Aleksei offers.
“Not going to work,” Sebastian replies. “It’s Chicago Memorial, not a hole-in-the-wall village clinic. Tons of witnesses.”
The doors slam open, and Rafe strides in, hair damp, icy droplets clinging to his clerical collar.
“Honor walk,” he says. Our heads swivel in his direction.
“What’s that?” Sofia asks.
He rakes his fingers through his dark hair, a shadow crossing his eyes. “It’s when a living donor declared brain dead is pulled off life support for organ donation. Anyone available gathers in the hallway for a send-off. I’ve taken part a few times after praying with the family. There’s one scheduled at ten.”
“You’ll draw everyone in the vicinity away from where Berisha is.” Sebastian cocks his brow, a smile curving his lips. “Brilliant, Rafe. Remind me, what’s in this for you? You know we’re killing someone tomorrow, right?” He shrugs. “Probably multiple someones.”
“Seriously, Sebastian,” Sofia shakes her head, “we really need to work on your reactions. A poor soul’s being pulled off life support, and you’re smiling like a hyena.”
“Not about the patient.” He levels his dead stare at her. “It’s an assessment of the plan. Excellent strategy by our good priest here.”
“Not a priest yet,” Rafe mutters. “Transitional deacon. That’s my title.”
“All the same to me. Everyone calls you ‘Father’ anyway.”
Sofia sighs. “Try to at least look sad.”
Rafe turns toward the crucifix again and makes the sign of the cross, murmuring unintelligible words under his breath.
“Great. He’s praying for our souls again.” Sebastian snickers. Then he stiffens. “But you said the walk is at ten? Isn’t Berisha’s surgery at one?”
“Aleksei?” I stand and stride to the far wall, where a lone monitor sits.
CCTV of the front of the cathedral flickers on the screen.
Showing the woman I love.
My chest tightens as I trace Lana’s face on the screen. She’s holding a red umbrella, much like the one she had when I first met her. A frown creases between her brows as she speaks with a nun, who’s shaking her head like she doesn’t understand her question.
No one knows we’re down here except Rafe.
“Stubborn woman,” I murmur.
Lavender wafts to my nose—Sofia’s calm-day scent.
“I had my doubts about her. A princess raised in a gilded cage, never experiencing poverty or hardship. So many doubts,” she says, staring at the screen. “Not anymore. I like her for you. A lot.”
“You really should let her in,” Rafe says, joining us. “Strength is in numbers. Love is power.”
“Oh please, stop with all the ‘love thy neighbor’ crap.” Sebastian snorts in the background. “Emotions are liabilities. Pollute your mind. Make you illogical. Thank God—”
