Page 8 of The Saint

The buzzer on the oven started beeping, and I rushed around her to turn it off. “I’d never lie to you. Mrs. T is a blessing. And I love helping you out.”

I could feel her behind me, feel her watching me. Judging me. Wishing something different for me. Without looking back, I pulled the pan from the oven and placed it on top of the stove to cool. Turning, I met her worried eyes.

“Dinner’s ready.”

With a sad smile, she took my hand, squeezing my fingers between hers. “Right on time.”

Busying myself with pulling out plates and glasses and silverware, I told her, “You’ve got a growing boy to feed. And Mrs. T needs her energy if she’s going to keep up with me tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you staying?” Penny asked as she lifted the three plates from my hands.

My gaze wavered on the chicken and wild rice cooling in the pan, my mouth watering at the delectable smell. But I couldn’t stay. Not with my mind racing the way it was. Not with all that dread and anticipation still slicking through my veins.

“I can’t,” I told her, drawing my eyes back toward hers. “I need to get home.”

Her gaze dropped, bouncing across the kitchen as she nodded her acceptance. It pained me to see that look on her face, but it wouldn’t be right any other way.

After helping her set the table and getting Mrs. T into her seat, I kissed the three of them goodbye, grabbed my sketchpad off the counter, and took off.

A salty, briny smell filled the air as I climbed the stairs to my apartment down the block and went inside. The breeze blowing off the river fluttered the papers on my desk. I set my sketch pad on top and ran a finger over the pencil lines marring the page.

Mrs. T’s face stared back at me, her wrinkled skin hanging like a loose-fitting dress, her smile lighting up her pretty eyes as she laughed. The picture was far from complete, but I had hours tomorrow to finish it up.

For now, there was something else I needed to do. I threw open the window and climbed out on to the fire escape. The smog settled like clouds over the city, the lights on the Queensboro bridge lighting up the early evening sky.

With my back settled against the hard, cooling metal, I leaned my head against the rail and closed my eyes.

Trying to get that tightness in my chest to subside.

3

JAEL

“At ease, soldier.”

Despite Arik’s order, my tight muscles barely relaxed. Though I’d been in D’Angelo’s house many times over the past few months, this was different. I wasn’t here because I was guarding his daughter. I wasn’t here to help fight a mafia war.

This time, he’d summoned me himself.

Everything in me tried to convince my brain that this man I’d known since I was a child wouldn’t harm me. But my brain screamed something different. My brain reminded me he was a dangerous man, and though I’d protected his daughter for the past two years at his request, I’d still betrayed my family by going away.

A fact emphasized by my brother’s command.

I rolled my shoulders, trying to relieve some of the tension that clung to my muscles and sucked at the last bits of energy that flickered around in my heart. And of course, that was when D’Angelo decided to come into the room.

This was it. This was the moment I’d been dreading the most.

The man turned his dark eyes on me, the smile tugging at the corners of his lips looking calculated and mean. I was so lost in my head, the fears swirling in my brain, I didn’t notice the men who’d gathered around the room at his side.

Not until a large plastic case thudded against the shiny wood of his desk.

My body jolted, and the tight lips hiding my brothers’ laughter didn’t escape my notice. Beside D’Angelo and Arik, my other brothers, Aviram, Yosef, Paz, and Eytan stood tall, failing to hide their amusement at my expense. Slightly behind Arik, partially hidden from my view, was the man who’d called me up when I’d gotten back to the States two years ago, insisting he and Arik needed my help.

Jet Pasternelo.

D’Angelo’s fixer.

The thread that tied so many worlds together.