Page 34 of Sinister Savior

Then I return to the door and peer out the window, hoping I don't have to actually kill him. It will be harder to explain things away if I do, and I may spend time in prison for this. But even that trade-off—not seeing Alice again—will be worth it to know she's safe, that this city is safe.

Then the back door of the church slams open, bouncing against the concrete exterior and swinging back hard. Paolo is there, holding it open and pointing his gun outward. He has two men with him too, both armed and scouting the area. I reach out the door and fire off a round, hitting one of them. Then I duck to the side, behind the brickexterior, as both men open fire. The bullets slam through the glass, shattering it on the floor at my feet, and I prepare for the instant they stop so I can return fire.

In the blink of an eye, the gunfire ceases, and I whip around and shoot the second man with my brother, and he drops. His gun skitters across the sidewalk, and Paolo scrambles to drop his empty clip and reload, but my gun is on him. There is no way he's getting away now. Just as he slides the clip in place, the church explodes. A few well-placed and well-timed-out charges cause a force great enough to bring him to his knees, and I rush out the back door of the rectory with my gun aimed at him.

My finger trembles on the trigger, the beast inside me screaming to get out and hurt him, but I can't do it. Paolo doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death. He must pay for all the things he's done wrong. He must suffer the way he's made others suffer, and I will be the one to bring that reckoning to him right now.

"Drop it!" I scream and press my gun to his temple. The blast was so loud I'm not sure if he hears my shout, but he gets the point when I put my foot in his back and shove him hard onto the cement.

Paolo lies sprawled on the ground covered in bits of broken glass and wood from the explosion at the church. My boot pins him down and he can’t get away. His gun is still in his hand, so I take a shot, and it strikes his arm. His hand goes limp, and I know he's probably screaming, but I can't hear a thing for a few more seconds. My ears ring after all the noise. My side is burning, and I'm dizzy. I think I may pass out.

All my anger, years of resentment and agony over the murder of my father, they swirl around my chest and mind. I want this man to pay, but if I kill him, I'm no better than him. I have to let justice come the right way.

"You're a man of the cloth now, Mario. You can't do this. What will your God think?" He mocks me, pushing buttons even when I have him under the gun.

"I could kill you now and no one will ever know." My hand shakes, my beast wanting me to pull the trigger.

"Mario…" The calm voice of Father Thomas pulls on me, and for a second I think it's just a figment of my imagination. Until a hand touches my arm and I look over to see the priest standing next to me. "Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord." His eyebrows rise, and I know I can't murder my brother.

But I can stand here until the police come. And stand here I do, as the sirens wail in the distance and approach. As the men file out of the battered church, each of mine imprisoning one of Paolo's. He squirms beneath my boot, but he's trapped now and Alice is free. I am free. Life can start again.

25

ALICE

I'm on pins and needles. I know something is happening. I can feel it in my bones. Mario has been planning and strategizing for this moment for so long, and now it's here and he's walked into battle a wounded warrior. He can't actually think he can do anything in his state. When I left him, he could barely sit up straight.

"Honey, relax. These men know what they're doing." The woman, whom I've come to learn is named Sandy, sits with a key in her hand attached to a chain around her neck. She slides the key up and down the chain, around and around until it’s driving me mad. It has to be the key for the door. She's toying with me.

"How can I relax when he's out there and he's injured? You didn't see him. He was bleeding and weak." I chew on my bottom lip and curl into myself farther. The couch feels like it's swallowing me whole. I may be clean on the outside, but my insides are dirty, stained with the guilt of having brought my troubles to Mario's doorstep. He could die, and it will be my fault if he does.

"They know how to handle themselves, sweetheart." If anyone would know, it would be someone like Sandy. She sits in this safehouse nightand day watching television, being used as a sex toy for someone who is out there fighting alongside Mario. She's probably done this a million times, seen her man come home bloodied and beaten more than once.

But I haven't. This isn't my life. Tom never fought in any battles or "wars", as Mario would call this if he were here. He wasn't a soldier. He was an accountant, a money pusher. Tom was safe and predictable, which is why I was so utterly shocked to learn he wasn't so predictable. Mario is a loose cannon, someone I'll never be able to predict or understand. I'm terrified he'll never come back and save me, and what then? I don't know the plan. Will I just stay here with Sandy forever?

"Can we watch the news?" I'm sure if something goes down, it's going to be newsworthy. It will be huge. Mario hasn't been amassing a small army for weeks just to go into Paolo's home or business stealthily. He will make waves, and when he does, the news people will be there.

"Yeah, sure," Sandy drawls and reaches for the remote. "Want a beer?" she asks me, and all I can think about is the baby. How good would a beer taste right now? Or a bottle of rum, but I can't.

"No, thanks," I tell her, and she switches to a news broadcast before heading into the kitchen. I hear the fridge open, and I want to run to the door and break it down, run away, but there isn't any point. It's reinforced steel with several locks. I can unlock all of them but one, and in my head, I practice how that would work if I can only get that key from her neck.

The news is talking about the weather, drier over the next few days but a promise of cooler temps in the long-range forecast. It feels eerie how this whole thing with Mario started on a night when they said it was going to rain. The weatherman telling me how the region would receive record rainfall. We could do with some of that moisture now, about two months later, for the heavens to open and shower on us.

I could use some showers too—showers from heaven full of blessings, protection, safety. Hope. I need Mario by my side. He quickly became my anchor in all things, and now without him, I feel lost. It feels like I'm going to be alone the rest of my life, however short that is. I don’t know his plan, and the fear of the unknown is almost as bad as the panic over what has been. Almost.

"Told ya it's boring…" Sandy slurps her beer and sits back down in her recliner, and I hug my knees to my chest. So far, things are quiet, but I know it's going down. I’m waiting, almost holding my breath, and when the news broadcast is interrupted by a special alert, I know it’s him.

"Hold on, Peter," the news anchor says. "We have an incoming alert. Police are on the scene at Our Lady of Resurrection church to respond to an active shooter situation. They say there are multiple gunmen in what appears to be a gang-related turf war." The broadcast goes to a live feed from a helicopter where smoke rises from the church's spires, and I stand to my feet in shock, covering my mouth.

"My God." I feel sick, and not your average morning sickness nausea. I feel like my heart will stop beating, that my mind will stop thinking and my body will cease to function. "Mario…"

"Hey, I told you, honey. They know what they're doing." Sandy is no help at all. This is old news to her, same-old thing she's used to. She stands, though, and she tries to comfort me, but I've had enough. I have to get to him. The police are there now. Paolo won't dare harm me with that many cops around.

When Sandy tries to touch my back, I turn and grab the key and yank it off her neck. The chain breaks, and she tries to grab me, but I shove her hard and she topples backward, slamming her head on the coffee table as she falls. Her eyes shut, and she slumps to the floor out cold, and I rush to the door.

With no shoes and no cash, no way to call for help, the only thing I can do is run. I unlock the door and bolt down the stairs before shewakes up and stops me. Then I dart into the mid-afternoon sunshine with my arms flailing. I hope someone sees me and stops, but I run at least five blocks before I even get to a major intersection. It's like the world has stopped, as if they've seen the report of the church exploding and they're all sitting behind television screens watching it unfold. I don’t have that luxury.

When a cab finally stops, I'm so out of breath I can hardly speak. The cabby graciously waits for me to catch my breath a little, and I huff out, "Please… Take me to Our Lady of Resurrection."

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