“Yes, Signora.”
“They will guard the girl.”
He nods.
“Then we won’t take the girl.”
A pause fills the room.
He understands.
Of course he does.
“We will take the man.”
A slow smile curves my mouth as the flames from thetelevision reflect in the glass windows.
“Break him…”
I fold my hands together.
“…and everything else will follow.”
23
Saint
The town is quiet again.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that settles after violence but never quite feels real. Sirens are gone. Fire trucks have rolled out. The smoke has thinned to a faint gray haze drifting over the rooftops.
To anyone else, it might look like the crisis passed.
To me?
It looks like the calm before the next strike.
The official story already made the rounds.
Gas line.
Bad timing.
An unfortunate accident.
I don’t believe in coincidences.
Not tonight.
Not with her.
I’m in the truck, heading toward the ridge road—the one that climbs above the old quarry.
It’s a perfect sniper nest.
Too perfect.
