32. Andrea
CHAPTER 32
Andrea
Wherever You Will Go - The Calling
A fter , an unnerving calm overcame Savio.
He guided me to a car I didn’t know he owned once he’d locked the church up for the night, each of his chores carried out with care, as if he wanted to cherish the memory in the future. When he settled behind the wheel, that was the moment a preternatural stillness overtook him.
The priest didn’t revert to being a man, but a hunter.
After wending his way through the crazy traffic and managing the minor miracle of finding a parking space, I grab his hand before he can get out and rub my thumb over his knuckles.
I don’t kiss him—not in his priest garb.
My lips mourn the lack, but I let him go, knowing this is the first step toward our future.
I don’t know if this will go wrong, and I have to think that Corelli won’t be eager to come outside like Savio plans, but I figure he knows what he’s doing.
He’s surprisingly slick, after all.
Yesterday, I saw him manipulate Paolo Lorenzo. I watched him get the pervert drunk, befriend him, and lubricate the situation until the man was at Savio’s mercy.
I have faith in my man.
And I’m not disappointed.
Barely four minutes after entering the restaurant that acts as the dealer’s front, Corelli storms outside, shouting, “What the fuck, Father? You think you can come into my restaurant after I invite you here and?—”
“And what, Marco? You didn’t come to confession speaking the truth,” Savio interjects.
I have no idea what he said to anger the man this much, and to be frank, I don’t really want to know. I’m scared, even though I know this is a justified killing because I’ve only just found him. I shudder at the prospect of him being taken from me.
For the first time, doubt hits me when Corelli grabs something from his pocket, and I know I’m close to expiring. I’m so certain it’s a gun that, for a second, it doesn’t even register that he’s grabbed a cigarette he proceeds to shove between his lips.
The windows to the car are open, and I’m close enough that the faint tang of tobacco slips in through the gap, enough that I almost retch as the scent swarms my senses.
“What kind of game are you playing, Father?” he demands, the cigarette drooping from his bottom lip.
I watch as Savio’s hands flatten on Corelli’s chest, and with a single push, he stumbles back three paces.
It’s clear that the drug dealer sees no threat in him—his mistake. If anything, there’s no fear in the mobster’s face, just outrage.
“You lied in confession,” Savio repeats.
Corelli’s frown appears, and I stare at it, sensing his bewilderment, and settle my hands under my butt to stop myself from leaping into the fray.
“I paid my dues,” he grinds out.
“You gave a false confession. You said you dealt with enemies. You never said it was a?—”
“A what?” Corelli snaps, and as he peers into the restaurant, whatever he sees has him waving a hand.
I imagine that’s him dismissing the guards.
The idiot—thank God!
As Savio grates out a reply, it’s too quiet for me to overhear. Each shove takes them back a step, but Corelli’s temper is close to snapping.
In the rearview mirror, the faintest flicker of a sharp blue light catches my eye. I can’t even tell you why I notice it, why it suddenly appears in my line of sight, but it’s there.
A bright, glittering presence that I can’t ignore.
Distracted, I miss the moment Savio pulls the dagger he said Corelli was renowned for carrying in a holster on his shoulder. Nor do I see him curl his hand around the dealer’s throat as he pushes the killer into the wall.
I just see the lights.
Plural.
There are dozens now.
Too many.
And they’re coming this way.
Did the grunts call the cops on Savio? Somehow, I doubt it. But their presence has me tensing because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, they’re coming to the bar.
Maybe they’ve cracked a case and found that Corelli’s at the center of it. Maybe something implicated him in Gianni’s death. Either way, Savio can’t be caught in this situation.
I won’t, can’t , lose him.
With the certainty that the cops are coming our way urging me to act, I leap out of the car. My body’s tired after barely any sleep because even though I could have rested today, knowing we were going to commit murder tonight, I was on edge.
A strange plan enters my head, and though I must warn Savio and get him to act now, I know what I must do.
I checked out the restaurant on Google Maps on the ride over here, so I know the layout. The alley Savio’s gone down has an open end, and I run around there, going faster than my body wants.
When I see Corelli has reached the mouth of the alley by this point, I rush forward, yelling, “Now.”
Savio’s eyes glance over to me, and Corelli uses his split-second distraction to grab the knife.
It’s too late for him though.
With a single strike of Savio’s hand, he slashes Corelli’s throat, the blade slicing through his skin like butter.
The arterial spray arcs wide. It’s almost poetic how it spurts into the air. Until it collides with Savio. Until it drenches him in Corelli’s blood.
His tainted blood.
While Corelli clasps at his throat, I surge toward the man I love and grab the knife. Just as his eyes flash with surprise, and the lights and sirens make themselves known, I can hear the stirring of humanity from the bar as if rats are leaving a sinking ship.
Brain whirring, I thrust upward, just like I would if I were Corelli’s height, and slice into my man’s abdomen before pulling the dagger free and tossing it on the ground.
Savio staggers to his knees, but even as his betrayal-soaked gaze breaks my heart, I scream, somehow louder than the sirens.
And I don’t stop until the carabinieri are rushing down the alley and they see what I wanted them to.
One sinner.
One priest.
One angel.