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“The Vatican—” Davis began.
“No,” Francis and Vitari echoed. “The Vatican will bury this,” Vitari said. “There are priests in these files. Priests who can’t keep their dicks in their cassocks—no offense, Francis.”
“I mean, well…” Francis shrugged. “I’m not exactly the epitome of priesthood, am I?”
At least Davis didn’t try to argue. Instead, the American stood back, arms crossed, his expression troubled. “This is disturbing. And it’s still happening?”
“What about Catalina Diaz?” Francis asked, ignoring Davis.
“Yes!” Vitari grinned. “Do you know her email?”
“Erm, I think I remember it.” Francis opened the email app on the computer and attached a bunch of files. “There are too many to send all at once. I’ll send them in batches. It will take a while.” He hit send but an error message popped up. “The files are too large. Videos, photos, they’re huge. We can’t email them.”
“Then call her,” Vitari said, pacing again. “Get her to come here.”
“Me?” Francis asked.
“She has a thing for you, she’ll come.”
“Oh, I don’t?—”
“Trust me, she’ll come if you ask. A flight from Barcelona to Nice is a few hours? She could be here by morning. Here.” He handed Francis his phone. “Call her.”
Francis left the seat and made the call. Vitari took his place behind the laptop and searched more files, finding reference to other charities, other numbers, some of them as recent as a few weeks ago. It really was still happening. Stanmore had been its beginning… Sasha had been selling children and getting away with it for over a decade.
But when he searched for Sasha’s name among the files no results came back. “Clever bastard.” The charities would be run by a spiderweb of shell companies, their origins impossible to trace. But he knew it was Sasha. Knew it from the smug expression on the bastard’s face when he’d handed over the first drive, thinking he was saving Francis by handing over a smoking gun.
But Sasha had known everything. He’d been toying with them both.
“She’s coming,” Francis said after ending the call. He handed the phone back.
Vitari slumped in the chair and pulled the USB from the computer. “This one little stick is going to fucking blow Stanmore wide open.”
“Good.” Francis swallowed. “It’s time.”
Vitari nodded and handed it back to him. ”Keep it safe.”
“I will.” He lifted his cassock and dropped the USB into his pocket. Had they been alone, Vitari would have already wrapped him in his arms, needing him close after seeing the evidence of the horrible fate they’d both narrowly escaped as boys.
The red welts around Francis’s neck were beginning to swell. Vitari was going to fucking kill Sal for hurting him. Brothers or not, nobody fucking touched Francis. “You know, months ago, when I kidnapped you, Francis?—”
“You what?” Davis asked.
“I told you I was taken,” Francis snapped at Davis.
“Yeah, I took him. Cable-tied his wrists, shoved him in a car, and took him to Spain. He wasn’t happy about it.” Vitari grinned and Francis leaned against the desk, smiling too. “Best thing I ever did.”
“You’re both crazy,” Father Davis muttered. “This whole fiasco is insanity.”
Vitari ignored the American and focused on Francis’s warm smile. “When I drove you to that Spanish villa and the would-be assassin took pictures of us together? You remember?”
“Vividly. I was so angry with you, I threw a mug.”
“And I used the pieces of that mug to torture that prick?”
Francis grimaced. “I also nearly shot you with his rifle.”
“Foreplay.” Vitari held his gaze, saying thank you without words, and watched the warmth bloom in Francis’s smile. “That bastard told me Sal sent him, he admitted it, and I didn’t believe him because Sal would never fucking do that.”
