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“No?” Vitari laughed. “Father Scott, do enlighten me.”
“You’re here because you fought for every second of it.”
They shared a knowing smile, unable to reach out and touch each other. They would later, Francis vowed. Between the sheets, he’d make sure Vitari knew how special he was. “You’re everything Neo wanted to be, just like Luca Espinosa. It’s not faking it to make it, if you’ve already made it.”
Vitari chuckled at that too. “You know, in all this? There’s a lot that doesn’t add up still, right? I still can’t figure out how Sasha knew my mother.” He peered into his wine glass. Mention of his mother had brought the memories back, clouding his expression. Not even his grin could withstand the past.
“Are you certain he did?”
“He told me, said something about her wanting me to have a life far away from the Mafia. When I pushed him on it, he denied it. He knew her. I’m certain. And they talked about shit like taking me away…” Vitari raised his glass and sipped.
Francis read his unspoken meaning. Sasha and his mother had likely been close. “Do you think they…” He didn’t want to say it, knowing what he did about Sasha and the DeSica operation. But was Vitari’s mother involved with Sasha Zhokov? A Russian mob boss and a Vatican girl. It would have been absurd, if they didn’t already know Stefania and Giancarlo had been in a relationship.
“I don’t know.” But it clearly bothered him. “But I got to thinking, why kill her? Was it just because she was there, an easy target to hurt my father with, or was there more to it? More between Sasha and my mother at the time?” He winced and cleared his throat. “I wish I knew her.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get that chance.”
“Yeah, well, Sasha is going to pay for that too. When I find him. He’s in town for some high-rolling poker tournament. I have people looking for him. Once I know where he’s staying, I’m going to pay him a visit.”
“How are you going to… do it?”
“I haven’t decided. Sniper, maybe.”
Francis skimmed the scar on his forehead, remembering how close a call he’d come with a sniper rifle. Nobody had ever been caught for that. Killing from a distance would allow Vitari to get away clean.
“The problem with that is he won’t know it was me. And I need my face to be the last fucking thing he sees.”
Vitari’s talk of murder should have made Francis uneasy, but as he sipped his wine and gazed about the bar, he didn’t feel anything. What was it Vitari had said? Sometimes revenge was justice. Stanmore had been Sasha’s operation, and while Francis had escaped lightly, others hadn’t. He still had the boy’s home photograph; not with him, though, since Vitari had thrown his phone into the ocean. But the original was in his office in Westminster.
They’d all been Sasha’s victims.
Killing Sasha was justice. Like killing Charles Montague had been justice. Although justice was not man’s remit, but God’s. And he should trust that God would deliver vengeance, but too much had changed. He wasn’t sure he trusted God at all anymore.
Francis’s idle gaze snagged on a man leaving the bar. Something about him seemed familiar, the cut of his wide shoulders perhaps, coupled with the blond hair… The American priest he’d last seen in Rome, the priest he’d once thought to be a friend. Father Davis was here? That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. Could it?
“Did you see that?”
Vitari glanced behind him at the door. “See what?”
“Nothing, I… Hold on…” Francis hopped off the stool. Ignoring Vitari asking after him, he dashed outside, into the reception area. But there was no sign of the figure. Perhaps it hadn’t been Father Davis at all, but someone who resembled him. He hadn’t seen his face, just his back and shoulders. He was probably jumping at ghosts again.
Francis returned to the bar. “Sorry, I thought I saw someone.”
“Someone… Who?” Vitari asked, eyes narrowing.
“It’s nothing.”
“Who?” Vitari asked again, glancing back over his shoulder.
“A priest from the Vatican.”
”A priest?” Vitari spluttered.
“Like I said, it probably wasn’t him.” Francis sipped his wine, wishing it were stronger.
Vitari shifted closer. “This is not the time to dismiss your instincts,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Who did you think you saw?”
“Father Davis. He worked for your father, I think?—”
