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“We could take a poll and see if the kids want to do something in the summer.”
“Once a year not enough for you?” Valentina’s cheeks swelled.
“They have such a great time. And I like getting together with Saint Agnes.”
She clasped her hands in front of her. “How long have we been doing this now?”
“This is the sixteenth year.”
“Wow. Time flies.” She paused when we reached the first row of pews. “Everything okay? You don’t seem like yourself.”
“It’s been a rough couple of days,” I confessed.
“I suppose that’s why you’re here.” She looked up toward Jesus on the cross.
I took a seat on the worn padded bench. “Have you ever done anything that was technically ‘wrong’”—I made air quotes with my fingers—“but it was definitely the right thing to do?”
Her brows shot up as she sat next to me.
“Many, many times.”
“Did your faith change after that? Did you feel you couldn’t or shouldn’t go to church any longer?”
She thought for a moment, tracing the edge of the pew. “I questioned whether I should. But God is love and forgiveness. If we can’t come to Him, who can we turn to?”
“I’m afraid if I do what needs to be done, I’m going to lose the part of me that is close to God. But if I don’t, I’ll lose what I love most.” I looked down at my lap. “It’s an easy decision, but I already mourn the piece of me that will change.”
“When it comes to family, there is no sacrifice too great.”
I jerked my head toward her. “How do you know I’m talking about family?”
“Because everything I’ve ever done that was technically ‘wrong’ was for them. I’m guessing you’re no different.”
“I can’t let him hurt them.” I clamped my mouth shut. I hadn’t meant to say that aloud.
Valentina opened her purse and set it between us. “Is this what you need?”
Inside, a handgun gleamed from underneath her wallet. I stared at her.
“I—”
“I don’t mean to frighten you. I have a tendency to assume the worst.” She gave me a tight smile.
I tossed my head back and laughed toward the ceiling. I’d come here to confess to God what I’d planned to do. I’d considered asking Him for a little help.
Here it was without my having to say a word.
“I’m not sure if this is irony or fate. Either way, I owe you lunch.”
Chapter Fifty
Stone
“What the helldo you mean you quit?”
Kane Zegas’s decibel level jumped at me through the phone.
“Exactly what I said. I nearly got Muriella killed. I’m done with the spotlight.”
