Page 106 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
His ringtone blares out. “Yeah?”
Then silence. He ends the call and looks at me. “We’ve gotta go to Bianco’s house. Now.”
Coldness slams down heavy in my stomach. “What happened?”
“Seamus said they went to his office. He didn’t come back from a coffee run this morning and missed a big meeting. Anthony Bianco’s gone.”
TWENTY-FOUR
harry
“Churches make me nervous,”Lucie says, looking around St. Jane’s as we sit in one of the pews watching women filter in for confession.
Interesting. Most of the mafia women I come across love church, even the nonbelievers. They like the feel of having a haven, a place where they can whisper their sins, or even ask for help.
If they do the latter, Father Luigi acts naïve but suggests working things out or, perhaps, trying to have coffee or tea at a place to make friends outside their world, a place where as long as they don’t spill anything but actual tea or coffee, they might feel better.
It’s not code, exactly, but they’re places known to find the start of help. His gentle push helps protect St. Jane’s and the underground network.
But Lucie isn’t looking for help. She’s as enamored with Callahan as he is with her.
I’m the one stuck with the big, scary brother. Seamus is too charming and Declan’s too young, maybe older than me byonly a couple of years. I have no doubt they’re as deadly as they want to be, but they at least hide it.
But for me, the deadliest is the scariest brother.
Torin.
Handsome. Tall. Killer smile when he uses it, which isn’t often. Stone-cold killer underneath hot flesh and hotter blood.
Worse, he’s a man who’s making it harder to remember the wordsI hate you.
I sound like a brat when I say them, but I say them to remind myself.
I can’t forgive him. I just can’t. No matter what he says. No matter what my heart thinks.
“Really? It’s just church.”
“But, Harry, you’re not religious. I see religion in some of the people who’ve come for confession today. But I don’t see it in you. No offense.”
“I’m not here to confess anything.”
I ignore the fact she called me Harry, not Hazel. It seems that more and more, the Murphy family has been calling me Harry.
“You know what I mean.” She yawns as a mafia woman in her early twenties walks in, dark-haired, head bowed.
Then another, older woman approaches, and finally, a young woman in a big hat. She sits at the end of the pew, away from the others.
“I grew up in the Holy Mary School for Orphans. So… maybe it rubbed off,” I say. “Maybe it brings me comfort.”
“Or,” Lucie says, eyes dancing, “you like to hide as much as Torin does.”
My spine stiffens. “I’m nothing like him.”
“You’re totally the yin to his yang,andyou like him.”
I bite down on the familiar words that havelooped through my own mind more times than I care to count as I sigh. “Do you want a drink? There’s altar wine or water or?—”
“I’m good,” Lucie says, smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt. “If you’ve got work, go for it. I might go out to get some cupcakes… I can bring some back for you and Father Luigi if you want?”
