Page 7 of Sinning for Santa

“Phillip Randall.”

Nodding, I lower to my haunches and lean in close. “I’ll make sure your sister and her kids remain safe.”

Relief washes over his features only to rush away a moment later when I press the muzzle of my gun to his head, and pull the trigger.

The shot is so fucking loud, echoing in the space, and it takes a moment for my hearing to return.

That’s when my men finally fucking burst through the doors with their guns raised.

“The fuck happened?” Finn snaps, charging towards me as the others fan out.

“What the fuck does it look like?” I ask my best mate, who is my second in command as I straighten and shove my gun back into the waistband of my pants.

“Ahh, Dev?”

The question comes from Miles, one of my soldiers, and I turn to find him hovering by the open door of the confessional. And then to her.

Those big blue eyes are round with what’s most likely disbelief, and a shit ton of fear, my little mouse clearly in shock over what she just witnessed.

The blare of a phone ringing stiffens us all since none of us ever have our sound on our ringtones, and we look around to find the source.

“It’s coming from the dead guy.” Finn points down to Phillip Randall’s lifeless body.

Bending down, I search his jacket to find the source and see the name “Mr V” flashing across the screen.

Fuck. It’s the man that ordered my hit.

“Check Father Peters,” I bark to whoever, pointing over to the pew closest to the confessional where I noticed him hiding.

Well, I hope the ball he was curled in under the seat was him hiding, otherwise he’s either injured or dead, and I can’t fucking comprehend the possibility that he got killed instead of me.

Two of my men move towards the pew Father Peters is under, while I hit answer on the phone speaker and wait.

“You’re a hard man to kill.”

My eyes meet Finn’s, and he steps closer to listen.

“Wanna tell me who the fuck has broken one of our most sacred fucking rules?” I snap, and the man chuckles.

“And what rule is that? Daring to go against a Marx family member?”

“No. The fucking rule where churches are sacred ground and we don’t bring our wars to them!”

“Well since I don’t live by the rules put in place by made men, I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

A lowdeep growl reverberates in my chest, and a flash of heat rushes over me as I fight to keep calm.

I want to point out that I’m not a made man since I’m not Sicilian, or residing in America, but that lesson will have to wait for a later fucking date.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Again, he chuckles. “Someone you shouldn’t have fucked with.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down very fucking much,” I point out, and Mr V clucks his tongue.

“No, I don’t suppose it does. Maybe you should stop fucking with other people’s lives.”

Fuck. That still doesn’t narrow it down.

---