Diego went rigid under my hand, every muscle coiled tight. He breathed shallow and fast. "That's my uncle's grave."
"I know." I kept my grip firm. "And if you go out there now, you'll be in one right next to him."
Achilles unzipped his tracksuit and urinated on the disturbed earth before he began shouting insults and slurs at the Romani in Russian, English, and Spanish.
Danior stepped back from the railing, his face ashen. He crossed himself, a gesture I hadn't expected from him. I glancedat Diego. I wished I hadn't. He'd gone somewhere I couldn't follow, somewhere past anger and into the kind of cold that burns. This wasn't the Diego who cooked with his shirt off and taught Eight to make eggs. He'd curled his fists so tight blood welled where his nails dug into his palms, and I understood then that Diego Reyes could kill someone with those hands. Not the clean, efficient way I'd been trained, but something uglier, something he'd enjoy.
An old man in a black cassock emerged from the shattered church doors, walking with the measured steps of someone who believed himself protected by God. He crossed toward the cemetery with his hands empty, his collar the only armor he wore. His lips moved in prayer.
Achilles straightened, zipping his tracksuit, and turned to face the priest. He said something to Patroklos, who laughed.
Father Gomes continued his steady approach. He reached the cemetery gates and stepped through, still speaking words we couldn't make out.
The gunshot cracked the night open.
The muzzle flash came from somewhere in the semicircle, and Father Gomes staggered, clutching his foot. He fell to one knee. Blood soaked the dust beneath him, black in the harsh headlight beams.
Laughter echoed from the cemetery. More shots followed, fired into the air in celebration. Some of the men returned to the SUVs while others kept at the graves.
Within minutes the SUVs had repositioned, one at every road out of town. I counted the exits and came up short. They'd sealed us in.
Danior had already gone inside. Through the window, I could see him pointing at doorways, handing out weapons, putting bodies in position. For all his political polish, the man knew sieges. Two of his men ran up the hill toward the cemetery andcame back with Father Gomes slung between them, his cassock dark with blood around his foot. His face was gray with pain, but he made no sound.
We went inside. Valentina was there immediately, ordering someone to bring clean towels and alcohol.
"Lucenio!" The voice cut through the murmured conversations. Danior stood in the center of the room, his tailored shirt streaked with dirt. "Lucenio, listen to me!"
The room quieted, all eyes turning to him.
"Valentina gave sanctuary. I honor that." He spread his hands, palms open, the picture of reason. "But she made that promise before armed men surrounded this town, before they desecrated our cemetery and shot Father Gomes on consecrated ground. The situation has changed. She couldn't have known it would come to this." He paused, letting that settle. Then he found me across the room. "Nobody is talking about breaking our word. I'm asking whether we can find a solution that protects everyone in this room, including the children sleeping in the back."
The room murmured. Heads nodded. I could feel the tide turning exactly the way Danior wanted it to.
"We should give him to them," one of the wives said from near the kitchen. "Before this gets worse."
More voices joined hers. I couldn't argue with any of them.
"Enough." Diego moved to stand between me and his cousin. "Those men out there already killed Emilio. You think handing over Jasper buys us safety? It buys them proof that the Lucenio break their word. They'll take what they want and come back for more."
Danior tilted his head. "Diego, I understand. I do. But we have to think about what's best for—"
"Don't." Diego's voice dropped low. "Don't talk to me like I'm one of your marks. I grew up with you. I know exactly what you're doing."
The room shifted. Danior's composure held, but something behind his eyes recalculated. "What I'm doing is trying to keep this family alive."
"No. What you're doing is making surrender sound reasonable so nobody blames you when it happens." Diego stepped closer. "Valentina gave sanctuary. Would you break it, Danior? In front of everyone? Say it plainly."
Danior's jaw tightened. The mask slipped for just a second, and underneath it was the same ugly calculation I'd seen in boardrooms and bunkers and every other place where men decided who was expendable. "Your Russian isn't worth the blood of family."
There it was. The real thing, underneath all that polish. Diego had dragged it out of him in front of everyone, and now the whole room knew what Danior actually meant.
Diego stormed over to stand in front of his cousin.
"Say that again," he said, his voice dangerously soft.
The room went still.
Danior straightened, meeting Diego's gaze. "I said, your Russian isn't worth—"
