Page 47 of Broken Honor

You are a shameless piece of shit.

I don’t move. I watch her as she turns to go again.

But I speak once more, low and bitter.

“Her parents were sinners,” I say. “They died in sin. And they passed that sin to her. She will carry it for the rest of her life.”

Carmela stops.

“She was their treasure,” she says, turning back to me. “They knelt in front of us and begged us to protect her.”

She steps closer now, her voice trembling with fury.

“Twenty years, their money kept this church running. Twenty years, their trust covered your debts and funded your life, you fucking piece of shit!”

She’s screaming now.

“You brought the very people they died to protect her from to her doorstep!”

Thunder cracks above us.

I stay still. The smoke from my cigarette curls upward and disappears.

“You’re making a mistake,” I say.

She spits at my feet.

“Go to hell.”

Then she turns and walks into the dark.

I don’t stop her. She thinks she’s shielding that girl from the world. But it is far too late

I stand there for a long moment after she disappears into the night. The wind rustles the olive branches overhead, and the cigarette in my fingers burns low, the ash curling toward my wrist.

Then I turn and walk back inside.

The stone corridor feels colder now. The quiet presses heavier against my back. My steps echo as I make my way into my quarters—small, modest, but suffocating tonight.

I close the door, draw the curtain, and cross to the telephone mounted on the wall beside my bookshelf.

My fingers dial the number from memory.

It rings once.

Twice.

Then a click.

“She’s about to run,” I say, voice low. “She’s going to take the child. From the looks of it, she’ll do it in a matter of days.”

“Good job,” says the voice on the other end.

“She wants me to sign to release the trust.”

“Do as she asks,” the voice says. “Keep your eyes on her.”

I hesitate.

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