Page 30 of Sinner
“Nico,” I whisper, my voice trembling as my fingers dig into his sleeve.
My father’s eyes never leave us as he speaks, each word falling like a death sentence into the cooling evening air.
“You have two choices. You walk away now, Caterina marries Anthony, and I forget this...” he pauses, letting the false mercy of his first option settle before delivering the truth, “or you disappear before sunrise. Permanently.”
The threat hangs between us, solid as stone. I know my father doesn’t make empty promises—only blood pacts. Anthony’s smirk widens as his hand remains hidden, his posture coiled like a snake preparing to strike.
Then I hear it—the distant growl of an engine, growing louder as it approaches from the opposite end of the alley. The sound reverberates off the brick walls, and a sleek black SUV glides into view, its headlights cutting through the gathering darkness.
The vehicle stops. Everything goes still.
A tall figure emerges from the driver’s side, unfolding with unhurried grace. It’s Luca. His expensive suit remains immaculate, not a wrinkle to be seen, his hands casually tucked into his coat pockets as though he’s arrived for a business meeting rather than what feels like an execution.
His presence changes the air itself, charging it with something dangerous and electric. I watch as his eyes sweep over the scene once, taking in Nico beside me, my father, Anthony, and the two enforcers flanking them. His gaze finallysettles on my father with a look of such cold intensity that I feel a shiver run through me despite the warm night.
“If either of them has so much as a scratch,” Luca says, his voice so quiet we all strain to hear it, yet it carries like thunder, “You won’t have a family left to bury.”
Anthony’s face contorts, lips parting as if to challenge this intrusion, but my father throws him a sharp glance that silences whatever foolish words were about to spill out. I watch my father’s expression shift almost imperceptibly as he studies Luca—there’s recognition there, knowledge passing between them that I can’t decode.
Luca continues, his tone still calm, almost bored, “And tell the rest of the Romanos the same. One hair. One bruise. And they’re done.”
The words hang in the air like smoke, and I realize I’m holding my breath. My father lifts his chin slightly, a gesture I’ve seen a thousand times at family dinners when he’s decided something. His men step back without a word. Anthony remains frozen, his face twisted with rage and something else—fear, perhaps. His hand slowly withdraws from his pocket, empty.
Luca moves to his SUV and opens the back door, gesturing toward me with a slight nod. Then he looks at Nico.
“Get in. We’re done here.”
My legs move before my mind can process what’s happening. Nico’s hand presses against the small of my back, guiding me forward. I slide into the leather seat, the cool surface a shock against my overheated skin. Nico follows, and the door closes with a solid thunk that feels like safety.
As we pull away, I catch a last glimpse of Anthony and my father standing in the dark, watching their leverage vanish. Anthony’s face is a mask of fury, but my father’s expression is harder to read—calculation, perhaps, or the beginnings of a new strategy.
Inside the SUV, the silence feels thick enough to touch. Nico turns to Luca, his face a portrait of confusion and dawning realization.
“What the hell just happened?” he asks, voice tight. “Who are you to them?”
Luca’s eyes meet Nico's in the rearview mirror. “You didn’t think I just moved in charity circles, did you?”
The question remains as we drive deeper into the night, street lights casting alternating patterns of light and shadow across our faces. My fingers still clutch the rosary in my pocket, but now I’m not sure which is more dangerous—the devil I was fleeing or the one who just saved me.
I lean back against the seat, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that’s been carrying me begins to ebb, leaving me hollow. Questions swirl in my mind: How does Luca know my family? What power does he hold that could make my father back down?
Because in my world, nothing comes without a price.
Chapter 17
Nico
Caterina emerges from the bathroom,her hair damp from the shower, wearing one of my t-shirts that hangs loose on her small frame. The sight of her stops my breath. In this moment, she looks nothing like the mafia princess I spirited away—just a young woman with eyes that have seen too much.
“Come,” I say, patting the space beside me. “There’s something you should see.”
We stare at the television, the volume turned low in the dim light, both still on edge, no matter the distance we’ve placed between us and her family. The anchor’s voice sounds distant, clinical, as images of a burned-out church flash across the screen. My church. Or what remains of it.
“Authorities believe Father Nicolò Moretti perished in what appears to be a targeted attack connected to organized crime,” the reporter says, her expression appropriately solemn. “The priest’s body has not been recovered, but officials confirm that DNA evidence at the scene suggests he did not survive the blaze.”
My fingers tighten around the remote. Three days. It’s been three days since we fled Brooklyn, since Luca spirited us away to this remote home on Prince Edward Island, near the Gulf of St.Lawrence and far from the reach of the Benettis and Romanos. Three days since I ceased to exist as Father Nico Moretti.
Today, Caterina should be walking down the aisle, a reluctant bride in white. Instead, she sits beside me on the worn leather couch, her knees pulled to her chest, eyes fixed on the screen as they show footage of parishioners leaving flowers at the church steps. I feel her tremble against me.
