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Father Alberto smiled. “No, I believe it was Alexander Hamilton.”
“Thanks, Father.” Vincent stood. “I’ll take that shower now, if you don’t mind.”
Father Alberto showed him to the small bathroom. Vincent stripped out of his clothes, sighing as he pulled the simple gold necklace from around his neck, setting it on a shelf beside the towels. He squeezed into the shower, the stall so tiny he barely fit inside, and scrubbed with a bar of unscented soap. After washing his hair, he got out and dried off, putting his dirty clothes right back on again.
Vincent walked away, avoiding Father Alberto and any sort of good-bye as he made the inevitable journey to the exit. He covered his head with his hood again when he stepped outside, his hair still damp. A nice breeze hit his face as he stopped on the top of the church steps and peered out at the empty street.
A chill ran through his body, but it had nothing to do with the cool night air.
“Corrado.” He greeted him quietly, not bothering to look at the figure lurking in the shadows beside the steps. He knew he would be out here, waiting for him.
“Well, Vincent, we could call you a lot of things, but a coward certainly isn’t one of them.”
* * *
“Come on! We’re running behind!”
Corrado stood in the upstairs bathroom, early morning sunlight streaming in the window as he stared at his reflection in the small mirror. He was already showered and dressed, but he had done little else to prepare for the day. Exhaustion infiltrated every cell in his body, clearly visible in the lines on his face. He studied them, surveying every mark and blemish, every gray hair on his head and every blood vessel in his tired eyes.
“Do you hear me, Corrado? We’re going to be late!”
Celia stepped into the bathroom, frowning. Without saying another word, she walked up behind him and fixed the collar of his shirt.
“Twenty-seven years,” he said, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “We’ve been married for almost three decades and you still have to fix my tie most days.”
She smiled. “It’s hard to believe it’s been that long.”
“I know,” he said, glancing from her reflection back to his. “I’m showing my age.”
Celia laughed as he turned around to face her. “You’re still as handsome as the day we met.”
“And you’re even more beautiful.”
He leaned down and kissed her softly, enjoying the feel of her lips on his own. She broke the kiss within a matter of seconds, though, and wrinkled her nose when she pulled away. “You’re quite a bit scruffier now, though,” she said, rubbing the prickly hair on his jaw.
“I didn’t feel like shaving,” he said. “Don’t have the energy today.”
“You do look tired,” she commented, her hand moving from his face to his hair. “Did you get any sleep at all?”
“Some.”
“You got in really late last night.”
“Yes.”
He gazed at her, seeing the questions in her warm brown eyes. Where were you? Where did you go? What did you do? Who were you with? Who did you hurt? They were questions that nagged her, always on the tip of her tongue, but she would never ask and he was grateful for it. He didn’t want to lie to her, and there was no way he could tell her he had stalked her only brother a mere few hours ago like he was prey, cornering him like a wounded animal in the same church they were headed to.
“Well, come on,” she said, looking away from him. “We still have to pick up Mom, and you know she hates being late. If we don’t hurry, she’s going to complain the entire time.”
Corrado stepped out of the bathroom, shutting off the light, and followed his wife out to the car. Neither said much on the drive to Sunny Oaks Manor where Gia DeMarco had resided for the past few years. Corrado was never fond of the woman and her harsh tongue, but he had the utmost respect for her.
When they arrived, Celia went upstairs to get her as Corrado waited by the entrance. He opened the car door when he saw them coming and Gia slid into the back seat of the Mercedes without acknowledging him. She scowled, her arms crossed over her chest.
Corrado shut the door, sighing, as Celia shot him a pointed look that said whatever they were about to endure was entirely his fault.
He would take the blame. It was the least he could do.
“You look nice, Gia,” he said politely as he pulled out into traffic. “Is that a new dress?”
