He gestured at the tea service between us.
"Without these forms, these small observances, we're just dogs fighting in an alley. Wouldn't you agree, Father?" His attention shifted to Rafael. "Surely the Church understands this. All that pageantry. The incense, the vestments, the Latin. Theater, yes, but theater with purpose."
Rafael's voice came out hoarse. "This isn't the same."
"Isn't it?" Constantine's eyebrows rose slightly. "You perform the Eucharist. I perform this. Both rituals acknowledge that certain acts require ceremony to maintain their meaning." He took another bite of his pastry. "Of course, the stakes are rather different, but the principle holds."
He dabbed his mouth with his napkin.
"I refuse to live like an animal," he said quietly. "To kill without appreciation for the moment, without proper acknowledgment of what's being ended. Don't you think that would be rather... disrespectful?"
"Dionysus understood this once. He was a man of culture, of refinement." Constantine's expression turned almost mournful. "We had such interesting conversations, he and I. Did he ever tell you about our discussions on Stoic philosophy, Lorenzo? No? Pity. He had quite a mind before sentiment made him weak."
He picked up his cup again, eyes never leaving me.
"You, though. You're a different story entirely." He tilted his head, studying me like I were something fascinating under glass. "Dionysus took something raw, something beautifully violent, and shaped it into art. An instrument of such exquisite purpose. Tell me, do you remember the cage?"
My blood turned to ice.
"Of course you do. How could you forget?" Constantine's smile was almost kind. "A child, feral and biting, locked in a cage like an animal. And look at you now. Sitting at a table, drinking tea. Well, not drinking, but the offer stands. That transformation is remarkable, don't you think? From beast to weapon to... this."
He gestured at me, at Rafael, at the space between us.
"Though I wonder if all that training, all that refinement, really changed what you are at your core. The wild dog that will always need a master's hand, a clear voice telling it when and where to bite." His smile widened slightly. "It's not an insult. It's simply what you are. Aperfectly bred weapon that knows, deep in its bones, the comfort of serving something greater than itself."
He took another careful sip of his tea. “Which brings me to an interesting point." He set the cup down. "Do you know why you're here, Lorenzo? Not philosophically. I mean, specifically. Why you, of all the considerable assets available to me, received that particular Judas coin?"
The words took a second to land.
"Ah, there it is." Constantine's smile was genuine now, pleased. "That beautiful moment of comprehension. Yes, Father Oliveira. The Judas coin wasn't Cardinal Azevedo's idea. It was mine. I gave it to him with very specific instructions."
Rafael made a small, broken sound.
Constantine leaned forward slightly. "Zeus was keen to let Dionysus stay on as the South American Director at first. It was unfortunate that he became so inspired by Director Aleksandar’s rebellion in North America. When Dionysus defied Zeus’s orders to keep the Icharus Project going, we determined he had to go. And I, being the helpful right hand that I am, provided the solution. So elegant, really. Lorenzo would kill his creator, you would kill Lorenzo, and all loose ends would be... resolved." He sat back. "Two birds, one Judas coin, as it were."
"Why me?" Rafael's voice was barely there. "What did I do to you?"
Constantine looked at him for a long moment, then laughed. "Do to me? My dear Father, you did nothing to me. Nothing at all." He shook his head, still smiling. "You were simply... available. Azevedo's best student, already assigned to Rome, easily redirected. The perfect instrument." He said it like explaining why he'd chosen a particular fork from the silverware. "Surely you don't think this was personal?"
The casual cruelty of it made my stomach turn. Rafael went very still beside me.
"It wasn't personal, Father Oliveira," Constantine continued, and now his voice held something that might have been sympathy if it weren't so clearly manufactured. "You were collateral. A means to an end. Really, if you think about it, you should be flattered. I chose you because I believed you capable of executing the task. That's a compliment of sorts."
Constantine picked up a napkin and dabbed at the corners of his mouth. "And now, you will die as the Pantheon's enemies have always died. With ceremony. With acknowledgment of what you were before you chose sedition."
Sedition.
Constantine stood and walked around the table, teacup still in hand, stopping behind Rafael, looking down at him.
"The Pantheon has grown diseased," he said quietly. "Infected with sentiment and weakness. Directors who refuse to eliminate threats. Assassins who question orders." He took another sip. "Zeus understands what many have forgotten. That Ferrymen exist to serve. A knife doesn’t question the hand that wields it. And people like you, Lorenzo… You’re a knife. The role of people like me is to serve as the body that directs you. When that connection is severed…"
I flinched when he snapped his fingers.
Constantine smiled. “Then the disease must be cut away, useless limbs amputated, broken tools discarded in favor of newer methods. So it is this mission that has brought us together on this fine morning in…” He looked to one of his henchmen.
“New York,” the armed soldier replied.
“…New York,” Constantine finished and walked back to his chair and set down his cup.
