Chapter 4
The private dining room at Ossario was smaller than I remembered.
I'd been sitting here for twenty minutes, on my third café com leite, when Luka arrived. God, he was a sight for sore eyes, even if he’d traded his jeans and t-shirts for a director’s suit.
He crossed the dining room and paused in front of me, taking in my torn jacket, the dried blood, the dark circles under my eyes.
"You look like shit,” he said before pulling out the chair and plopping down.
“Thanks. You’re charming as always.”
Luka signaled the bartender. "Vodka and gummy worms. Sour if you have them."
I grimaced at the thought. While I had a sweet tooth, at least I had taste.
“So,” he said, folding his hands and turning back to me. "Biblical proportions?"
I pulled out the Judas coin and set it between us.
He stared at it. "Fuck me. How’d you get one of those?”
"Cardinal Azevedo's goodbye gift," I said as our drinks arrived. "Tell me there's a way out."
Luka picked up his vodka and downed it in a single gulp. "There is no way out of a Judas coin. You know the rules. Once you accept it, you’re bound to hunt the original contract holder.”
“Who is…?”
Luka's jaw tightened.
"Who was it, Luka?"
The silence stretched before he finally said, "Dionysus."
I blinked twice and then cleaned out my ears with a pinky because that couldn’t be right. “Are you shitting me?”
“Afraid not. He requested you specifically for the Azevedo job.”
My hands had gone numb around the cup. "You're telling me I have to kill a Director. One of the seven people who run this organization."
Luka frowned, and we looked at each other over the ancient coin and the unopened bag of sour gummy worms. We both knew what that meant.
Luka had killed Prometheus, his predecessor, and Rhadamanthys had dragged him before the Tribunal to face certain execution for the murder of a Director.
Only Vincent and I proving Prometheus's betrayal had saved him from execution.
But there’d be no reprieve in this case. Dionysus wasn’t guilty of anything nearly as seedy as Prometheus’ crimes.
"Fuck,” I spat and turned away. “Dionysus practically raised me."
He'd taught me how to hold a knife, how to move through shadows, how to kill without hesitation. He'd also taught me that loyalty meant something in this world, that family could be chosen, that I was more than the animal they'd kept in that cage.
Now I had to kill him. The universe had a supremely fucked up sense of humor.
Around us, conversations died mid-sentence. That particular quality of silence that came right before violence.
I turned and cursed at the sight of Judge Rhadamanthys standing in the doorway, black Stetson tilted at the perfect angle. It was never a good thing when a Judge showed up.
Rhadamanthys spotted us and made a beeline for our table. "Ah, how good to see you again, Piccolo,” he said, stopping beside me.
I nodded. "Your Honor. Small world."
"It is indeed. But I’m afraid I’m not here to deliver good news.” His gaze fell on the coin sitting at the center of the table. “Is that it? The one Azevedo gave you?”
“News travels fast,” I muttered.
“Even faster in some circles,” he noted and gestured to the coin. “May I?”
“Be my guest.”
He picked up the coin and held it to the light. "Interesting. Do you know the story, Piccolo?”
I leaned back and crossed my arms. “Judas had enough of Jesus’s holier than thou bullshit and sold him out for a kiss and thirty pieces of silver.”
Rahdamanthys’ eyes flicked to me. “An oversimplification. One some might call sacrilege. But still not entirely wrong.” He lowered the coin.
“The Judas Coins predate the first minting of the Ferrymen coins, as do the rules surrounding them. Rules that I wonder if you’ve familiarized yourself with yet. ”
“I know that refusing the coin would’ve meant death,” I said. “And I know accepting it means I’m bound to kill the contract holder.”
Rhadamanthys took a slow sip of the martini the bartender placed in front of him. “And who, pray tell, initiated the contract against Azevedo?”
I met Luka’s eyes. Luka gave a shake of his head, but I answered anyway. Better for Rhadamanthys to hear it directly from me. “Dionysus.”
The judge choked on his martini. “I see,” he said, recovering. “You do realize…this is a trap?”
“Seems like it. Die if I win, die if I lose…Seems like someone out there really wants me dead.”
Rhadamanthys frowned. “That is…unfortunate. But it doesn’t change what I’ve come here to tell you.
Per the coin’s rules, until the coin's demands are satisfied, you are suspended from the Pantheon.
No safe houses, no resources, no protection of our covenant.
" His voice softened. "One hour to conclude your affairs and vacate all Acropolis-affiliated properties. I'm sorry, Lorenzo. Truly."
My throat constricted. Every contact, every resource, every safe harbor I'd cultivated was now off-limits. "And if I succeed? If I kill Dionysus?"
The silence stretched. Rhadamanthys's face went ashen. That scared me more than anything else because when Judges looked worried, normal people should be fucking terrified.
"Then you will have murdered a Director. And the Judges will be bound by oath to hunt you down and execute you." His voice was barely a whisper. "Every path leads to the same end, Lorenzo. No matter what you choose, you die."
I pushed my drink away. “Well, then why bother? Why not just kill me now and get it over with?”
Rhadamanthys stood, replacing his Stetson. “A man’s legacy is not measured by the time and circumstances of his death, Lorenzo, but by the way in which he lived. You have a choice before you still. How you conduct yourself in the coming days will define your ending. Make it a good one, Piccolo.”
Then he was gone, vanishing into Ossario's elegant crowd like expensive smoke.
Luka's hands trembled as he poured more vodka. "Christ, Lorenzo. What did you get yourself into?"
“Someone set me up,” I said, snatching up the coin. “And I intend to find out who. Right after I finish this one last job.”
"Lorenzo—"
"I’ve got an hour to get out of Rome." I looked at him, and something in his expression made my chest tight: worry, real worry. "I'm sorry, Luka. For dragging you into this."
"Just come back alive, Lo. We'll figure out the rest."
The nickname hit differently than it should have. How many times had we said goodbye like this, both of us knowing the odds? This time though, we both knew the truth: I wasn't coming back.
I pocketed the Judas Coin and walked away, threading through Ossario's elegant crowd toward the exit. Assassins and arms dealers parted, their conversations resuming only after I'd passed.
I made it through the bone-lined corridors and into the reception area, past the same well-dressed killers conducting their civilized business.
The elevator waited at the far end, brass doors reflecting amber light. When the brass doors slid open, I paused, eyes widening as I took in who was waiting for me.
The hot priest from the Vatican straightened, and a smile played at the corners of his mouth, the kind that promised violence or pleasure or possibly both.
"Lorenzo Vasquez." My name rolled off his tongue like he'd been practicing it, tasting each syllable. "Just the man I was looking for."