Chapter 10
My stitches ached, but what else was new? Maybe I wouldn’t have been in so much pain if I’d been able to sleep on the train, but my paranoia kept me awake for the entire twelve hours. That and the puzzle that was Rafael Oliviera.
It was pathetic, really. Here I was arranging my own execution, and my cock stirred every time I thought about the way Rafael had looked at me in Rome.
The trip from the train station to the private hangar wasn't complicated, at least.
The hangar bay doors opened, and a broad-chested, chestnut-haired Spaniard emerged.
"Lorenzo!" Diego beamed. "So good to see you’re still breathing!"
Christ, I'd missed him.
I winced as he swept me into a bear hug that lifted me clean off my feet. When he set me down, his eyes swept over me, taking inventory of every bruise and bandage. "Someone's been playing very rough with you, amigo."
"The best kind of playing."
"Obviously." His smile faded. "But first we need to get you inside before mi príncipe oscuro decides you're a security risk and vanishes again."
I arched an eyebrow. "Dark prince?" That was a new nickname for Jasper.
Diego shrugged. "He hates it, which is exactly why I call him that. Come. We’ll do it inside, eh?"
The hangar was three times bigger than it looked from outside, packed with aircraft that probably had very interesting provenance stories and equipment that would make customs agents weep. Center stage sat a sleek twin-engine plane that screamed "fuck you" money in the quietest possible way.
Diego brought out a copper-lined box. “You know the drill, amigo.”
I did. Jasper's paranoia about Zeus and satellites hadn't mellowed since I'd last worked with them. I dropped my phone in the box and immediately started to strip.
Diego let out a low whistle. “Someone carved you up good! Tell me he looks worse.”
I sighed. “I wish I could.”
A flame sparked in the darkness, and I reached for a weapon that wasn’t there only to relax when Jasper stepped into the light. He pulled a freshly lit cigarette from between his lips and nodded in my direction. “Lorenzo.”
"Jasper. Appreciate you coming."
He didn’t say anything. That was Jasper’s way, a man of few words.
"Shall we discuss business?" Diego said as I began to redress. “You said you needed transportation to Rio?”
I nodded.
“What for?” Jasper demanded.
I hesitated, but only for a moment. No point in dragging it out or lying. They were going to find out either way. “I need to take out a Director. Dionysus."
Jasper's cigarette froze. Diego hissed a curse in Spanish that made my skin prickle.
"Madre de Dios. Lorenzo, are you loco? They’ll kill you for this."
“I don’t really have a choice,” I said and fished out the Judas Coin to show it to them.
Jasper's eyes narrowed. "No."
"Jasper—"
"This is suicide. Worse than suicide. This is walking into a wood chipper and expecting to come out whole on the other side." Jasper lit a new cigarette from the dying ember of his last one. "I've survived eight years by avoiding exactly this kind of attention."
"I know what I'm asking," I said carefully. "But I'm dead either way. At least this way, maybe I'll take some of them with me."
"Stupid," Jasper muttered and turned away.
"Guapo, you’ve been hunting Zeus for eight years," Diego said. "Maybe it’s time we take the fight to him, eh? This could be our chance to get some new information."
Jasper's jaw worked. Finally, he stubbed out his cigarette. "Fine, but you do as I say, when I say it. No questions asked. Understood?”
We shook hands.
What would Rafael think if he knew I was flying to Rio to put a blade through the heart of the man who'd raised us both?
Maybe it was better he didn't know what was coming.
But the priest was nothing if not determined, and once he connected the dots between Azevedo's death and Rio, he'd come.
When he found me with Dionysus's blood on my hands, we'd finally have our reckoning.
The flight to Rio passed in a blur of Diego's terrible jokes and Jasper's pointed silence. By the time we landed and I'd acquired the Ducati from one of Diego's contacts, the sun was already bleeding orange across the favelas.
I killed the Ducati's engine a block from Sanctum and slid between two parked cars.
Electric blue and pink neon wrapped the old church ahead, tracing gothic buttresses in pulsing light.
Bass vibrated through the cobblestones into my boots.
Laser light bled through stained glass, painting saints' faces across the street in strobing colors.
Rio had turned a church into a nightclub. Very on-brand.
I pressed deeper into shadows as a black Mercedes with diplomatic plates glided past.
The car door opened, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe.
Dionysus stepped out in a perfect navy suit. How long had it been since I last saw him? Did he have so much gray hair then?
Two bodyguards peeled off the Mercedes to flank him.
Dionysus vanished through the side door before I could react.
Dammit. I don’t want to do this. But I didn’t have a choice.
I dismounted and walked toward the club, barely aware of my surroundings. A guard stepped into view, and my hands started shaking again. I could kill him. Easy. But after him came stairs, and after stairs came Dionysus, and after Dionysus came—
A hand landed on my shoulder. "That won't be necessary, Piccolo."
I flinched and spun around to face Rhadamanthys.
But the Judge didn’t reach for a weapon. He simply released me and approached the guard.
The guard's eyes went wide, and he stepped aside, clearing the way with a nod.
"Come," Rhadamanthys said to me, gesturing toward the entrance. "Walk with me."
Bass vibrated through my bones as we moved through the service corridor. Staff rushed past with trays, too busy with their night to notice a dead man walking.
A tapestry hung ahead, Last Supper rendered in faded thread. My chest tightened as Rhadamanthys reached into the folds and found something hidden there. A button. The elevator doors opened beside us. Once I stepped inside, there was no going back.
"You know the rules, Piccolo." He sounded almost apologetic.
I swallowed. "I know them."
Complete the contract and die. Refuse and die anyway. At least the venue was nice. VIP murder in a converted church. Dionysus would appreciate the aesthetic.
"Good."
The elevator doors opened, and I made myself step inside. Polished steel threw back a ghost of my reflection. Maybe I already was one.
Rhadamanthys led me straight to the center booth, where Dionysus sat positioned to see the floor below.
"Your guest has arrived," Rhadamanthys said simply.
Dionysus glanced up from his whiskey and nodded. "Grazie, Your Honor."
Rhadamanthys tipped his hat to Dionysus and turned to me. "Remember, Piccolo. In our world, how you die matters as much as how you live." He paused. "In bocca al lupo."
His boot heels clicked away into silence, and I was alone with the man I was about to murder.
Two guards melted back into the shadows without Dionysus sparing them a glance. I slid into the seat across from him.
"Lorenzo," Dionysus said warmly. "You look well. Rome treated you kindly?"
The question was so normal it made everything worse. Like we were catching up over drinks instead of—
"Rome stabbed me twice and gave me a sexuality crisis over a priest, so I'm living the dream."
He laughed, and the sound made my chest hurt. When was the last time we'd sat together like this without mission briefings or lectures about operational security?
He poured green liquid from an ornate bottle into heavy glasses. Neon light from below turned it to liquid emerald. "Saúde."
"Saúde." The absinthe scorched down my throat.
He leaned back and studied me the same way he used to analyze my combat forms, looking for weaknesses, improvements, the next thing to sharpen. "The coin?"
I pulled the Judas coin from my pocket and placed it on the table between us.
He picked it up and turned it over slowly. "Judas coins are rare, you know. I doubt Azevedo just had this lying around.”
“You think someone gave it to him?”
Dionysus’ eyes met mine, and he nodded before putting the coin down. "This wasn't random. We've both been set up."
"Why make me kill you?"
He shrugged. “Because I’m in the way. I spoke a little too loudly, a little too often, against the status quo. And because someone, somewhere, is killing off directors. I’m not the first, and I don’t suspect I will be the last.”
I stared at the coin lying between us.
Electronic samba pounded below, making the stone walls vibrate. Hundreds of people danced where generations had knelt for communion. All that joy and life and movement thrummed downstairs while up here, everything was ending.
"You knew this was coming,” I said.
"I suspected manipulation. Didn't know how deep until recently." His fingers traced the empty glass. "By then, the trap was closing. Any warning I gave would have looked like paranoia."
"So you waited to die."
"I waited to give you the truth." He leaned forward. "Rafael's coming. We were supposed to meet here tonight. He’s discovered Project Icharus and wanted answers about my connection to it. Apparently, his order within the church is hunting him. He blames you, of course."
I smirked. “Of course.”
Dionysus sighed and closed his eyes. “Will you do it before he gets here? Don’t be so cruel as to make him watch.”
“I’d never do that.” I pushed to my feet. My blade slid from its hiding place, balanced perfectly in my palm. My hand started trembling again.
He stood and adjusted his tie. "Take care of him, Lorenzo."
“Who?”
“Rafael.”
I flinched at the sound of his name for some reason.
"You're the only one who'll see him as more than a weapon,” Dionysus continued. "Give him what I never could. A choice."
The blade grew heavy in my grip.
"Promise me, Lorenzo. Whatever happens, whatever violence comes, protect him. Even from himself."
I wanted to say no, wanted to tell him this was too much, that Rafael would gut me the second he found out what I'd done. But Dionysus had never asked me for anything. He'd ordered, suggested, guided. Never asked.
"Fine. I promise."
His shoulders relaxed like I'd lifted a weight he'd been carrying for years. "Good. You're going to need each other for what's coming."
I shifted the blade in my grip.
"One last request, if you’ll indulge an old man." He moved to the stained-glass windows. "Let me spend my final moments looking at something beautiful."
I followed his gaze through the glass to where Rio spread below us. Favela lights climbed the mountainsides in chaotic beauty while the dark ocean bled into darker sky, all of it watched over by Christ the Redeemer's outstretched arms.
"Take your time," I said.
He smiled, eyes fixed on the view. "I'm proud of you, Lorenzo. You became exactly what I hoped you would."
I moved behind him. The blade hovered at the base of his skull without piercing skin. I'd killed dozens of people. Hundreds, maybe. But this was Dionysus. The man who'd saved me. The closest thing I'd ever had to a father.
Do it, I told myself. Give him the mercy of a quick death instead of whatever torture someone else had planned. He'd taught me how to kill clean, taught me that if you had to take a life, at least do it right.
But my hand refused.
"It's alright, Lorenzo," Dionysus said quietly, still watching Rio. "I'm ready."
The permission broke something in me.
I drove the ceramic into the base of his skull. He never looked away from the windows, never flinched, never made a sound. I caught him as his weight went limp and eased him back into the booth, his body heavy and still warm against mine.
Blood covered my hands. I wiped them on my jacket but just smeared it everywhere.
He slumped against the booth, eyes still open, still facing those windows like he was watching Rio even in death. I'd done this. Driven the blade where it needed to go. Caught him when he fell. Held him like he'd held me all those years ago when I couldn't stop shaking after my first kill.
The copper smell hit me, and my stomach turned over. This was Dionysus' blood. The man who'd saved me. The man who'd made me.
The man I'd just murdered.
I should run. Grab the coin, disappear into Rio's favelas before Rafael arrived. I could be gone in minutes, lost in the sprawl of the city where even the Pantheon would struggle to find me.
But my legs wouldn't move. Some fucked-up part of me wanted to be here when he showed up. I'd spent my whole life running away from things. Maybe it was time to stop.
Besides, I'd promised. And keeping promises to dead father figures was apparently my new thing.
“You.”
Weight suddenly crashed into me from behind. My attacker drove me into the booth's edge, punching air from my lungs. His knee slammed into my kidney, and white-hot pain shot up my spine. His hands twisted in my hair before I could react, yanking my head back. My scalp burned where he grabbed.
Rafael. Of course it was Rafael.
"You killed him." The words came out raw, broken, his breath hot against my ear. "You fucking killed him."
I tried twisting away, but his grip tightened. Fingernails dug into my scalp. His other hand found my throat and squeezed. My vision started narrowing. Black spots danced at the edges.
His grip loosened just enough to let air rush back into my lungs. I gasped, choked on it. His breathing came ragged and desperate behind me.
"I came here to make him answer for what he'd done." His voice dropped to a whisper, deadly calm settling over the rage. "But you took that from me."
He pulled out a blade.
"Now I'm going to take everything from you."