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“What makes you say that?”
I point toward the notepad. “Was quite a match. You happen to catch it last night?”
“Of course. I’m a huge fan.”
“Machete Mac holds the same record as Kryptonite King, though I can’t recall it off the top of my head.” I’m lying. Their records are what made this one of the most watched fights in decades. Two champions dubbed foolish by fans for wanting to risk destroying their records by fighting each other. Fortunately, Mac won.
“I, um. Seem to have forgotten myself.”
Liar. Even a minor fan of the sport would know the answer to that.
“If I wasn’t a priest, I’d have had my money on Mac, and I’d be a rich man this morning.”
Only the corner of his lips lift slightly. “I tend to root for the underdog. As for who my money would’ve been on, well, I find gambling to be a dangerous venture. Particularly when the outcome is so … uncertain.”
“I suppose you’re right. To gain at someone’s loss is against God’s will to work hard and live an honest life.” I’m careful with my words, yet curious to see how he responds. “It’s like anything, I would imagine. Drugs. Prostitution. Vices that lead one down a path of temptation and greed.”
The smile on his face widens. “When you say,prior to the priesthood, you’d have put your money on Mac. Were you a man of many vices back then?”
“Some. But I follow a much bigger calling now. One that smothers those desires.”
“Of course. Though, we’re never truly free of the urge to sin. I admit I’m sometimes curious of things I’ve chosen to deny myself.”
“Perhaps you’ve not fully committed to this path?”
“If carnal curiosities measured the breadth of one’s faith, we’d have no priests. Whether you care to admit it, or not, we’ve all been invited to sin at one point. Whether it’s greater than our will to face God’s wrath is what ultimately decides our fate.”
I can’t help but feel a small bit paranoid at his words, and I wonder if the fact that I had my face buried between Ivy’s thighs the night before is written in my expression.
“This is neither here, nor there, where you and I are concerned. It’s as you spoke in your homily this morning, the seed which does not die, will never produce. We are men willing to die for our God. It doesn’t get any more committed than that.”
With a slight tilt of my chin, I stare back at him, trying not to think about how exactly he’ll die, when and if I find out he played any direct role in my family’s murder. “No. It doesn’t.”
* * *
It’s late by the time I’m back at the rectory, and I flip the TV on, catching tomorrow’s weather report as I unbutton my shirt. I stride toward the bathroom to flip on the shower, and when I come back into the bedroom for some boxers and shorts, a special news report flashes across the screen.
Only curiosity makes me pause long enough to see my half-brother’s face on the screen. The caption beneath reads:Machete Mac Badly Wounded in Shootout.
I turn up the volume, both my mind and stomach churning at the same time.
“Authorities say the MMA fighter was at a celebration of his recent win, when an unknown gunman entered the hotel banquet room and opened fire.”
My mind rewinds to the notepad on Javier’s desk, and his comments about gambling and uncertain outcomes.
“The champion fighter was recently spotted at the funeral of his estranged father, Queens local, Anthony Savio.”
It’s the first I’m hearing of my father’s death. I suspected it’d be soon, but I didn’t even realize he passed.
“He’s currently in critical condition, and doctors say his recovery is uncertain. This incident follows the suspected death of Savio’s eldest son, Anthony Savio, Jr., who went missing following the unsolved murder of his wife and daughter eight years ago.
A picture flashes across the screen of Val and Isabella, one police must’ve secured from my house after the murder. My chest goes cold and numb at the sight of them. I intentionally avoided the news reports back when it happened, for the same reason I’m wishing I hadn’t kept watching now. The frosty sensation in my chest tightens at the sight of my beautiful little girl, taken before her chemotherapy. And Val, with her forehead pressed to Bella’s, both of them laughing. Happy.
Running a hand over my jaw, I sink onto the bed.
Fuck.
I’m certain of one thing—whoever hired the hit on my brother saw him at the funeral for my father. And if anyone happens to be privy that I’m still alive, I’ll undoubtedly be next.
