AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What did I say to ruin everything now?”
“I uh…” He gazed out over the ocean and the tiny waves tickling the shoreline. His cheek flickered. “When I thought you were gone, back in England, I lost myself for a while,” he admitted.
“Yeah, bought a gun, huh?” Vitari grinned. “I’m intrigued how a priest gets hold of a gun in a country with some of the strictest gun laws in the world.”
“Oh, yes.” He beamed. That smile lit up his face, making Vitari’s heart flip-flop. “It was quite something. I got mugged early on. But I was undeterred. I thought I was being clever, but in all honesty, I suspect that Neo character had been watching me for a while.”
Mention of Neo soured Vitari’s mood. “That slippery fuckin’ bastard. I never should have trusted him. I’m good at spotting liars, but he had me fooled. If I ever get my hands on him again, I’m going to remind him what it means to be a rat in the Battaglia.”
“Uh… Yes, well… I erm… I started to drink a lot, after you were gone, and on one of those nights when I couldn’t see a tomorrow, I raised a glass to you, my uh… my friend… and I toasted to surviving. Like we did, remember?” His voice cracked, and the next words fell out as a whisper, “I was so alone.”
Vitari rolled his lips together and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He tried to hold on to his smile so Francis didn’t see how his words hurt him too, but he could no more hold his smile than he could hold on to Francis’s laugh.
The fact he’d hurt Francis proved how much of a piece of shit Vitari was.
“You just reminded me.” Francis laughed softly, trying to make light of it, and picked at the beer label. “That’s all.”
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” Vitari briefly closed his eyes as his insides twisted. He didn’t deserve to be forgiven, even if he wanted to drop to his knees and beg Francis for it.
“I know, it’s okay, it’s fine.” Francis shrugged and took his first swig of beer.
Vitari hadn’t believed Francis would care that he’d gone, but he should have, should have gotten out of his own head and started thinking about others. The fake death hadn’t done any good anyway. Everyone knew he was alive, probably because he hadn’t killed Neo, and that prick had talked.
He should have executed that asshole outside the cathedral.
“Have you checked the news?” Francis asked. “To see if anything has happened at home, anything about the Battaglia?” he whispered, glancing around, checking they weren’t within earshot of the handful of other beachgoers.
“No.” He hadn’t dared Google their names, just in case he saw his own face plastered over every news report.
However, it made sense to look now, since they were back among people, and someone clearly knew they were in Central America.
He pulled the phone from his pocket, connected to the hotel’s weak Wi-Fi, and hovered his thumbs over the screen. What if it was bad? It had to be, didn’t it? Not knowing meant he still had a shred of hope that everything was fine back home, even though it couldn’t be.
“Do you want me to do it?” Francis asked.
Vitari handed over the phone and stared at the ocean as Francis tapped away. He didn’t want to know what chaos he’d left behind, didn’t want to face the repercussions of his actions, knowing it had to be dire. He’d faked his own death and figuratively thrown his father under a bus, using Sasha Zhokov to do it. Whatever Francis said next, it would be bad.
“Oh.”
“You going to keep me in suspense?”
“Your father was arrested. He’s been released on bail.”
“They released him?” Vitari laughed. “Of course they did.” His father would have paid the judge, and he’d be in the process of finding every single person connected to his case—to coerce, bribe, or worse. A fucking tale as old as time. Justice could be bought. “Anything on Sasha?”
Francis searched. “Nothing new.”
“Then he’s pulling strings behind the scenes. Keeping his name out of the fire. Clever.” Vitari gulped the rest of his beer and shoved the empty bottle upright into the sand. “And the archbishop? Montague?” he asked carefully.
Francis’s thumbs paused over the screen. He looked up, stricken. Despite the vile things Montague had done, Francis would probably struggle with witnessing his execution for the rest of his life. He blamed himself, even though Vitari had been the one to pull the trigger.
“Want me to look?” Vitari asked.
Francis nodded and handed the phone back. Vitari leaned back in the lounger and typed Montague’s name in the search bar. A whole array of news links popped up. He scanned the headlines and clicked on the most reliable link. “He’s missing, apparently.”
“Missing?” Francis squeaked. “He was very dead though, right?”
“Oh yeah.” He skimmed the article, picking out the pertinent details, or lack of them. “There’s nothing, which means the Battaglia, or someone, sent in the cleaners. Charles Montague is missing, that’s all.”
