Page 10 of Savior

Neither one of them looks at me; they only continue eating.

“Did you hear that Collins’ girl is missing? I saw it in the paper last night.”

John swallows a healthy mouthful of wine, placing his glass back down as he nods. “Yeah, it was on the news this morning, and a buddy at the precinct downtown said he picked the case up.”

I nearly choked on the mouthful of chicken parmigiana before swallowing it with gulps of water. Still, I bang on my chest to ensure nothing gets stuck.

“What do you mean, she’s missing?” I ask finally, clearing my throat of the need to cough afterward.

John rolls his eyes at the stupidity of the question. “What does missing usually mean, Father Russo? She’s missing. No one’s seen her since she left a club in the Bronx nearly two weeks ago. Her best friend reported her missing.”

I swallow.

Panic is rising in my chest, and I battle it to remain level-headed. My hands shake, so I place my fork down against my plate.

Mama shakes her head. “It’s a difficult situation, the incident with her father.”

I cast my eyes down, keeping the tears at bay.

My best friend, Raymond Collins, has been gone nearly as long as my papa has. Three years ago, he overdosed on God only knows what. There were so many drugs in his system that they deemed it a suicide.

I hoped the daughter he left behind would be alright in his absence.

I kept up with her here and there for the first year afterward. Her mother had custody of her, and while she was almost eighteen at the time of his death, I still didn’t think Belinda was suited to care for her.

She was the catalyst to Ray’s death, and I fucking know it.

Sure, he was into some dark shit long before she came along, but her presence didn’t help him. Neither was suited to be a parent, so of course, they got pregnant early in their relationship. It was tumultuous and toxic.

I was the only one at his funeral, watching as they lowered his casket into the ground at the cemetery. Not even his daughter came to bury him.

It was sad.

Even those who live the darkest lives are God’s children, and deep down, there were visages of the friend I had known since childhood beneath the mask of drugs and alcohol, veiling them.

“Rough business,” John mutters. “That’s an understatement.”

I nod in agreement, pinning my brother with a no-bullshit glare. “What is your buddy saying? What do they know?”

His eyes flicker with amusement at my questions, likely a smart-ass comment brewing and begging to be let loose. But he contains himself. “Not much. She was walking home from the bar, and they think she was struck and kidnapped. A couple of cameras caught her walking past, but then she just vanished before she hit the next one. Why, you going to save her?”

I swallow.

What does he think he knows?

Mama eyes him before leaning closer and smacking him in the back of the head. “Leave your brother alone, Figlio. If you focused on being a good brother to him instead of giving him a hard time, you two would be inseparable.”

“My job is to save people,” I retort, ignoring Mama’s words entirely.

John scoffs, giving Mama a sidelong glance to ensure she won’t strike him again. It nearly makes me laugh.

“You save people from damnation, Fratello. This is a different business, eh? Let the police do their jobs.”

I push my food around on the plate, unable to get her image from my mind. No one’s going to look for the daughter of a junkie.

Not anyone on the force.

They’re understaffed, overworked, and underpaid.

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