Chapter 17
Vivi
Our Lady of Pompeii feels different this morning, or maybe it’s just me. My gaze roves the vast chamber as Ivan and I enter, a sense of curiosity blended with resignation seizing me.
It feels…like a stranger.
I can’t help feeling like I don’t belong here.
I’ve been a member here all my life, even though I haven’t attended much in the past few years. With Mother in rehab and my siblings, as far as I knew, dead, there simply didn’t seem to be any point.
And yet, it always felt like home and comfort when I did manage to make it through the doors.
I’ve been in more frequently lately. Recently, the church has served as a focal point for some of the most important events in my life, as well as in those of people like me.
People who don’t lead the kind of lives that would allow them to be seated here every Sunday and Wednesday.
We are not the devout.
We are the devils.
Not too long ago, I entered this sacred place as a guest at the wedding of Luca Marzano and Carina Scarpetta. It was a day that ended up becoming even more momentous when my friend, Rowan, was suddenly forced to marry Enzo Scarpetta.
There was so much anger in the chapel that day, and all the while, my brother stood there beaming. He was the catalyst. The engine driving all of us forward irrevocably toward our destinations.
He was the wizard behind the curtain, and the Five Families despised him for all of his machinations.
But as much wrong as he did, I’ll miss him dearly. Ivan was kind not to make Angel leave me the same way he had in the past. He confessed the grace he had given him, and if I hadn’t wholly loved my husband before, the last pieces of my heart fell for him after learning of his subterfuge. Angel is alive, even if he’s not with us.
As alternatives go, exile is not the worst thing that could happen.
Shrugging the thought away, I focus on my surroundings. The last time I was here, the church was dark. Every arch and corner seemed foreboding and dangerous and frightening. Now, with the late spring sun streaming through the stained-glass windows, I can better appreciate Our Lady’s beauty. The stained windows paint the ancient wood and stone in multi-color light. Paintings and statues line the walls, something I hadn’t noticed when Ivan’s sentries had been in their places at my wedding.
This isn’t a scary place anymore.
Everything had worked out. Sort of, anyway. Nikolai is dead, and Angel lives, but the threat of Azrael and reparation still hangs over us.
Ivan stands beside me, several of his men spreading out through the room. “What are we waiting for?” I whisper. I’m not certain why we’re here, only that it has something to do with Angel and Azrael.
God, how I want to be done with Azrael.
Ivan blinks down at me. “We need to get in contact with Azrael. I must speak to the priest.”
On the heels of his pronouncement, the priest appears—the same one who married us, I note. He eyes us with a bland sort of curiosity. “How may I help you today, my son?”
Beside me, Ivan stiffens. He doesn’t like being addressed in that manner.
Son. It’s a reminder of things better left in the past.
I grab his hand and give it a slight squeeze. Ivan exhales loudly, deliberately relaxing his frame. He leaves his hand in mine, curling his fingers around mine in a protective gesture.
“I need information, and you can supply it,” he answers. “Who comes to collect the letters to Azrael?”
Father Greco’s friendly face disappears, replaced with an unsettling coldness. He draws himself up, taller and tighter, and regards us down the length of his nose.
“I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with this matter, Mr. Romanov. We communicate to the Mother, the Father, the Son, and the Saints through our worship, and that is—”
Ivan takes a half-step forward into the priest’s space. “Is it not a sin to lie, Father?”
“I tell no falsehood.” A blustering half-laugh escapes him, the only outward sign of nerves. I can smell his fear, though.
Ivan’s free hand twitches, and I know that his impatience is about to win his battle for control. “Do not test me, Father.”
Greco’s eyes narrow, but he does not reply.
Words spill out of me without thought. “I understand that you are afraid, Father.”
Ivan raises an eyebrow at my outburst, but he doesn’t interrupt. The priest remains silent, and after a moment, I continue.
“These people are dangerous, and they’ve probably threatened you. Or maybe you didn’t need them to say the words. You’re a smart man, and you know how these things work.” Greco’s lips part, as if he’s about to speak, but I reach out and grab his hand with my free one, stopping him. “I promise that no harm will come to you, Father.”
He gives a bitter laugh. “My child…my sweet, foolish girl. It’s too late for promises like that. Azrael already knows you are here.”
I lift my chin at his chiding and release his hand. “So, when we are successful, they will assume that you helped us anyway. You meeting with us at all has sealed your fate. If you give us whatever information you have, we can better protect you.”
The laugh fades from the priest’s lips, leaving his face pinched and anxious. “How can you possibly protect me? You don’t understand. Azrael is everywhere.”
Ivan smiles, an unfriendly expression on his stern face. “You will find that we have that in common. Much better to have me as an ally than an enemy, Greco.”
The priest’s gaze darts from us to the door and then to the men scattered about the room before coming back to rest on us. He is terrified.
“Please. Let us protect you.” I try one last time.
Father Greco draws in a deep breath. “Fine,” he finally mutters, expelling the air in a gusty sigh. “This way.”
He still seems nervous. Tiny beads of moisture collect on his forehead, and he glances around the chapel as if looking for spies. He leads us past the altar and through a side door, which opens up to a hallway where doors lead to various other rooms. Father Greco opens the door to a room with several computer monitors and towers. All of the screens show live feeds of various parts of the church.
He gestures at the screens. “Don Valachi demanded that we add surveillance a few years before he passed.”
Ivan is already leaning over a keyboard, staring intently at the various views. “Perhaps he wanted to keep an eye on Azrael,” he says.
I suppose it’s naive of me, but this is a side of my father I hadn’t known existed—a strategic, cunning side. I’ve only ever seen him as a man of indulgences. Lulu and I were placed in the positions we were because of his love of cars and luxury items. If I had to guess, I’d attribute my mother’s drinking and abusive behavior to her own feelings about the man. He flaunted a never-ending parade of mistresses with little discretion during my childhood.
It never struck me as particularly unusual behavior for a man in his position, simply something all of the Dons engaged in.
Don Privilege.
But I guess there was more to my father than I ever witnessed.
I look up at Ivan’s face, illuminated by the glow of the computer screens.
I don’t think Ivan is like that. At least…he had better not be. The thought of him having another woman awakens a beast inside of me I never knew existed.
I think I could kill her if such a female existed. Take a knife and slide it between her ribs, plunge it up and into her cold, black heart. I don’t normally let anger such as this rule me—I pride myself on my temperance and control—but I do think, in a situation like this, that I could be just as vicious as Carina or Evie.
Still, Father having the foresight to install cameras tells me that perhaps he did more as a Don than just bask in the luxuries his position afforded him.
Ivan turns his head to look at the priest. “Do you have a camera trained on Azrael’s box?”
“Yes. Just give me a moment to find the day that Angel left his message for Azrael.”
He slides alongside Ivan and seats himself, then reaches for the keyboard.
It takes longer than a moment, the computer taking its sweet time to render the images his quick tapping pulls up. Ivan’s impatience beside me communicates itself in the restless shift of his feet as we wait, and I give him another reassuring squeeze of my hand.
Finally, the image of a person appears on the screen—a woman in a winter coat. She looks as if she just dropped her kids off at a playdate. There’s nothing vicious or sinister about her to give alarm, and she opens the box casually, without alerting any of the individuals seated to pray in the sanctuary just beyond her.
She doesn’t read the message on the spot but casually places it in her coat pocket and walks out of the church.
Father Greco changes the screen to the parking lot, where we watch as she walks off the property.
Ivan groans, his fingers tensing around mine. “Useless.”
The video keeps playing. Ivan presses. “This can’t be the only information you have.”
Father Greco shakes his head, stubbornness in the set of his mouth. “Mr. Romanov, Azrael is just as mysterious to me as they are to you.”
“Who set up the box?” Releasing my hand, Ivan reaches for the keyboard. “When did that take place?”
The priest’s response halts him. “That occurred before my time. I admit to being curious years ago…I looked. There are no church records that state when the box was installed.”
“Damnit…” Ivan pauses, considering. “How does Azrael know when a message is sent?”
Greco’s response is a shrug. “I don’t know. I suspect that one of my attendees is part of Azrael.”
Between the image of the woman on the screen and the thought of Azrael being part of the priest’s congregation, a chill runs down my spine. My sense of security vanishes as the last bits of the foundation beneath me crumble. All of the faces I’ve seen outside of my car window…every casual encounter I’ve ever had… Even the housekeeping staff in my home—any of these people could be Azrael. My interactions with them could all have been moments when I was face-to-face with somebody assigned to watch me. Somebody who could have ended me in a heartbeat, if that’s what they were supposed to do.
Father Greco goes to speak, but Ivan shushes him. Ivan leans toward the screen, and I follow his gaze. The woman reappears at the edge of the parking lot and gets into a white sedan.
Ivan taps the screen with his forefinger. “I need you to save this footage to a drive. I’m taking it with me.”
Nodding, Father Greco does as he is asked.
We leave the church with a USB containing the footage and an entourage of men behind us. Today, our car is a small limousine with a glass divider between Ivan’s driver and us. As soon as the door closes, Ivan pulls me against him. He presses a quick, hard kiss against my mouth, just enough to awaken me before he pulls back.
“As soon as this is over, I want us to get as far away from this as possible, and I want to fuck you until both of us pass out.”
Our last encounter had been passionate, tender. The thought of giving into our physical passions—nonstop, relentlessly, uninterrupted—makes my body ache. “I want that, too,” I say, laying my head against him.
We just need to settle this situation enough to make it possible.
An idea sparks, and I raise my head, beaming up at Ivan as it begins to take shape.
“Ivan. I think I know who can help.”