Page 56 of Scandalous Kingpin
It was no accident that I’d chosen this table. From our position, we could see every movement in and out of the church, and most importantly, we could see our target’s figure shadowing the windows. Almost as if he could sense judgment day was coming.
We’d been following his every move for the past week, down to every activity the fucker packed into his pathetic little routine. We tailed him to the Vatican and the grocery store, even his coffee and cigarette breaks. His last mass was at seven in the evening, and we planned on slipping through the rectory door while he started his ritual of locking the doors. He always started with the front gate.
Leaning back in my chair, I drummed my fingers on the table. Any minute now.
And like clockwork, my target came into view: a pathetic excuse for a priest, hunched over, rushing across the square toward his little sanctuary. It was a dump, that’s what it was. Not a church. And it was about to become his final resting place.
My mouth twisted into a smile, which was probably more like a grimace.
“Thank you,” I said, my eyes never wavering from my target. I sensed Ivy’s surprise, but I couldn’t look over at her. Not now. Not when the object of my nightmares was so fucking close.
“For what?”
“For giving mehim,” I breathed. “You were right. I need him dead to get closure.”
And I would finally get it.
The truth was that the Vatican should have done more than shove him away, out of sight. It wasn’t enough of a punishment for all the pain he’d caused. Maybe they’d hit him where it hurt—his ambition and pride—but they should have flayed him until flesh ripped from his bones.
But not to worry, I was content on playing judge, jury, and executioner. This devil, the rotten apple, would be removed from their folds.
“You’re welcome. Make him pay, baby.” I grinned at the viciousness in her voice. It was what I loved about her. She wasn’t soft, not in the classical way. She was like an avenging angel, stronger than I imagined most people gave her credit for. Her brothers made a mistake when they chose to keep her sheltered in that Irish castle. She was born to lead.
“Don’t you worry, angel. He’ll pay.”
Father Gabriel was about to have a very bad day, and I’d make it even worse by informing him it’d be his last.
Even from here, I could smell the stench of desperation and foulness radiating off of him. I still remembered the fucker’s cologne, even after all these years. It was burned into my nostrils.
But his demise was imminent, and it was for that reason and that reason alone that my shoulders felt lighter than they had in a decade.
I glanced down at my espresso with a curled lip, then stood up, extending my hand to my wife.
“Showtime.”
Her hand in mine, we made our way across the piazza and into the church from the east-facing side as Father Gabriel struggled with the heavy door of the church. He never even glanced our way, unaware we were taking the back way that ledinto the rectory while Father Gabriel locked the front door of the church.
Once inside, I turned to my wife and asked, “Are you sure you want to be here?”
It was her last chance to run.
“Absolutely. We stick together through thick and thin. Like Bonnie and Clyde. Let’s just aim for a better ending.”
It was a cheesy comparison and she knew it. Still, it made my lips twitch in amusement.
Once inside the church, I locked the door behind us. It was now between God and me what I was about to do. Our footsteps were silent, making our way deeper into the rectory.
Taking a seat by the table, she crossed her legs.
We didn’t have to wait long before Father Gabriel appeared in the doorway of the rectory.
“Ma che?—”
I jammed my fist straight into his nose. He squealed like a stuck pig, tumbling to his feet and thrashing about dramatically. Before he could get his footing back, I punched him again. The crunching of bones signaled his nose breaking, and he wailed, his throat gurgling as blood gushed from his wailing mouth.
“Non ho soldi,” he screamed, clutching his bleeding nose.I don’t have any money.
I yanked him by the back of the collar of his priesthood robe.
