Page 90 of Skotos
“Then we shake carefully.”
I leaned my head back again and exhaled. “Where do we even begin?”
Will scooted forward and rested a hand on my knee, drawing my gaze back to him.
“We go back to the chapel. We may not know much, but wedoknow that place was the group’s meeting spot, maybe even their headquarters. Neither of us were in the best frame of mind for a thorough search. We probably missed things, possibly important clues.”
“And if a gang of priests show up armed with rifles and swords?”
Will grinned. “I’ll take the swordsmen. You’re better at catching bullets.”
“Fuck you.” I winced as an involuntary laugh sent pain shuddering down my spine.
We sat there for the longest moment, Will’s hand still resting on my knee, as we each thought through the insanity of our plan. Sure, walk back into the lion’s den. It should be fun. I doubt there will be any lions in their own fucking den. It should be a walk in the park on a sunny day—or a bloody catastrophe. It sounded on par for our missions.
“Enzo was in the Italian underground during the war, wasn’t he?” Will asked suddenly.
I nodded. “Most of his work was behind the scenes, helping the resistance, feeding the Allies information.”
“If Lucio still has his contacts—”
“He could get us weapons, possibly some men to tag along for security,” I finished his thought. “Holy shit, Will Shaw,thisis why I love you.”
“Only this?” Will painted on an offended expression. “I’m brilliant, handsome . . . andverygood with my hands. There are so many things to love.”
I shoved him, immediately regretting the act. “Fuck!”
“Serves you right for trying to assault me,” he snarked.
“Assault?”
“You behave.” His smirk widened into a very assholish grin as he stood. “I’m going to have a chat with Clan Enzo.”
41
Will
The chapel looked even more ominous than before. Thankfully, Lucio provided us with a pair of his best men, two burly Italians whose scarred faces and arms spoke far more than either of their owners. Overhead, the sky was a bruise of angry gray and black, clouds so thick they swallowed the sun whole. The stone archways and broken spires of the ruined church cast jagged silhouettes against the low-hanging sky, like the bones of a giant beast long dead yet refusing to surrender the last of itself to the Earth. Wind whispered through the grass, occasionally gusting to scatter leaves and light debris across the road.
We stayed in the car longer than we should have. Thomas sat beside me in the back seat, his face still too pale, the white bandages beneath his shirt a reminder of how close I’d come to losing him yet again. His earlier delirium had passed, but his movement was stiff and cautious.
“You still think this is a good idea?” I asked.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he watched through the windshield as Lucio’s men circled the perimeter of the chapel. They moved with the efficiency and grace of assassins, quietly, with weapons ready, their eyes sweeping every shadow.
There were no other cars, no other signs of life.
Still, we waited.
Thomas sighed and let his head rest against the window. “We’re going back into the lion’s den.”
“More like sticking our heads in its mouth,” I muttered. “We’re insane.”
One of the men reappeared at my window, gave a terse nod, then stepped back. The other motioned from the chapel’s entrance that the perimeter was clear.
Thomas grunted and opened his door. I followed. The men flanked us—hard-eyed and silent. I appreciated their presence, though I trusted them about as far as I could throw the chapel and its centuries-old stones. After being followed and chased for days, then Thomas getting stabbed, trust was in scarce supply, even for our supposed friends.
Thomas walked slower than usual but steady. His wound was wrapped in gauze and tape, the bleeding finally staunched. I wanted to tell him to stay back, to let me handle this, but I knew he’d hear none of it. He was far too stubborn—and brave—to let me walk into danger without his comfort andsupport. Lucio had armed us, so we strode toward the chapel’s doors with pistols in hand.
