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He scrolled the phone’s caller list and hit the number for Sal. He picked up on the third ring. “Ciao, boss.”
“Sal, it’s me.”
“…Angel?”
“Yeah.”
A long, weighted pause sailed down the line. Sal might hang up, might rage at him, might call him a traitor. “I never thought I’d hear your voice again, fra.”
No anger, just relief. It was good to hear Sal’s voice too. “I need your help. Just you. Not your papa. Can you come to the villa?”
“You’re home?” Sal’s big, relieved sigh said enough. He’d help them.
“Come now, fratello. Don’t tell anyone.”
“On my way.”
Vitari ended the call and turned to see Francis’s concerned expression. “Everything is about to get real, Padre Blanco. If you want to leave, go now. You can still have a life.”
His gaze danced around, as though maybe he was considering it, like he should. “A life without you.”
It would kill Vitari if Francis left, but he had to give him the choice. Francis had to know what this meant. There was no going back. With Vitari’s father dead, the Battaglia would be in freefall unless someone gripped the reins, fast. “Yes, but still a life. Go be a priest in some sleepy English village somewhere, if that’s what you want, Francis.”
“I don’t think I ever wanted that,” he mumbled. “Not really.”
“I can’t save you from this after tonight,” Vitari admitted. “Can’t save you from me.”
Their gazes met, and Francis’s soft smile grew. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He’d hoped he’d say that—needed to hear him say it. Francis had no idea how Vitari’s every heartbeat was poised on a knife’s edge, how his every breath pushed him closer to breaking. “How are you here?” After that prayer he’d uttered earlier, he’d begun to wonder if God really had been listening.
“Neo was going to have me killed, and I knew he’d made you do something because of me, so I uh… I…” He glanced at Giancarlo’s body. “I told Giancarlo. He had those men bring me here… to you. This is probably not the time, but I think, in all this, he was trying to keep you safe the only way he knew.”
“Yeah, with threats and abuse.” Vitari refused to look at his father.. He’d have to do that later, when they moved the body, but for now he only wanted to drink Francis in. He was a mess. His clothes were the same he’d been wearing since they’d left Panama, all creased and filthy, as though he’d been dragged through a field. He even had grass in his hair. Vitari rested a hip against the desk, plucked the grass free, and showed it to him, making him smile. “You brought some of Colombia back with you.”
“At least it’s not drugs.”
Laughter shot out of Vitari. “You look a little rough around the edges, Padre.” He brushed his knuckles over the golden fuzz of a beard along Francis’s jaw. A blush touched Francis’s face.
“And you look amazing, like always.” Francis wiped something from Vitari’s cheek. Blood, probably.
He really, really hoped what came next didn’t break them. Because it was going to be a shitshow.
Vitari sighed. His gaze fell to his father’s empty chair. The crown had fallen, and he didn’t want to pick it up. He wasn’t ready. Didn’t want it. But life had always been something that happened to him, sweeping him along, like Francis and his Church. Just once, he’d have liked a choice in it all.
And if he’d had that choice, he’d have chosen none of this. This life wasn’t for him.
He’d have chosen Francis.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Francis
The man who arrived an hour later was built like a wrestler, with arms as thick as his legs, cropped short black hair, and a mean Italian face. Perhaps, in other circumstances, he might have smiled, but he saw the scene in the study, swore at length in Italian, and then ranted at Vitari. Vitari fired off a retort in a similar tone, until the two of them were flinging rapid Italian back and forth like gunfire.
There was a whole lot of gesturing and what sounded like some crude name-calling. As Francis had little hope of following any of it, he poured himself another whiskey. When he set the bottle down, a USB storage device with Vitari’s name on it caught his eye.
On instinct, he slipped the drive into his pocket. If it wasn’t important, it wouldn’t matter that he’d taken it. And if it was, then it should be kept safe. Because there were two bodies that needed to be dealt with, one of them being don Giancarlo’s, and nothing about any of this was going to be safe.
