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The shout resounded through the house. Was that… Vitari?
It was. He’d know his voice in a crowd of a thousand, know its accent anywhere, and its rage. Francis dashed along the short entrance hall and stepped into a large open-plan living area. He stopped and listened. Vitari was here—not in Colombia—and by the sounds of it, he needed help. Maybe if Francis called out, he’d reply?
Hard iron poked against the back of his head.
“You just won’t stay dead, will you, Padre?”
He’d found Neo.
Francis raised his hands as ice spilled into his veins. “Vitari is here?”
“Yes, he is. And you’re going to sit tight while he does what he’s told, or I will paint that nice white wall over there with your brain matter.”
“What’s going on?” As he asked, events fell into place around him. Giancarlo was here. Vitari was here. Neo was here. Neo, who had made Vitari agree to something in Cartagena, to keep Francis safe, while all the while he’d planned to have Francis executed.
Did Vitari think Francis was dead?
Vitari was going to kill Giancarlo for Sasha. Of course he was. The final, ultimate betrayal, and the catalyst that would bring down the Battaglia, leaving it in ashes at Sasha’s feet.
But that wasn’t going to happen because Francis wasn’t dead. He’d called Giancarlo, and Giancarlo had brought him here. Exactly where Vitari needed Francis to be.
Was it God’s work? Fate?
It didn’t matter. Francis had to act.
“Vitari!” Francis yelled.
“You dumb fuck!”
The gun cracked against his head. Pain blasted down the back of his neck. Francis reeled, stumbling against the wall, but as his vision blurred, he saw Neo run toward another door.
He had to get to Vitari, had to help him. “Vitari, I’m alive!” He shoved off the wall and stumbled forward. “I’m here.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Vitari
Giancarlo muttered a prayer, and Vitari blinked useless tears from his eyes so he could see his father’s end in all its horrifying glory.
“Vitari!”
The moment stalled, reality slamming back in, tearing down all Vitari’s defenses.
“Francis?”
How…
Vitari swayed and clutched the edge of the desk. Francis was here, just outside… But that didn’t make any sense. Unless…
Giancarlo smiled, but it wasn’t the snarling smile of a man who loathed his son. Not anymore. It was a soft smile, a smile of understanding, a smile the likes of which Vitari had never seen on his father’s face. A smile that said it was all right, a smile of understanding.
The study door flew open.
Giancarlo began to turn.
A gun barked.
A dash of warm wetness rain over Vitari’s face, and Giancarlo fell.
