“I’ll need to settle that with Roy,” I said. “I don’t know what promises he made you, Father, but I can’t guarantee them.”
Father Giovanni’s face fell. “Don Valentino, if you please,” he said, and I noticed that suddenly he wanted to speak to me with more respect. Maybe I shouldn’t have allowed any informality. He needed to know who was in the position of power in this relationship. “I thought this was all settled.”
“And it’s not.” I pushed my chair back and stood. “I will speak with Roy. For now, sit tight. I still might need your help in the future.”
“Of course,” he said, nodding quickly. “Whatever you need, Don Valentino.”
I nodded sharply, touched Mags’s shoulder, and headed to the door. She murmured a goodbye and followed me out into the quiet of the rectory then down a hallway. I stopped in the shadows of a large wooden door that led to the side of the building and turned to her, anger overflowing like water from a flooded pond.
“That motherfucker,” I hissed through my teeth. “He’s cutting deals behind my back.”
“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Mags said. “I’m not a part of any of that.”
“I know you aren’t,” I said, pacing back and forth. “What the hell’s your uncle thinking though? He knows he can’t make that kind of call without informing me first.”
“Maybe it happened before you were voted in,” she said. “Father Giovanni might be misremembering. He is kind of old.”
“Even if that’s true, he still should’ve talked to me first.” I pounded a fist against the wall. This could be bad, if this became a pattern. Roy was supposedly on my side, and supposedly I was the Don, but he’d been in power for longer than me, and his contacts would likely defer to him. He could undermine me if he wanted, cut me out of the business, and neuter me at every turn.
It would be a problem if he didn’t start treating me like I was the one who held the noose wrapped around his throat.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Straighten it out,” I said. “Motherfucking Roy.” I hesitated and looked at her in the gloom, standing there with one arm under her breasts, the other elbow resting on her hand, the fingers of her left hand pulling her lips nervously. Goddamn, she was beautiful. I loved when there was a hint of anxiety in her face, a little bit of worry—it made me want to save her.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “Just like the way you look.”
She blushed slightly. “Don’t start,” she said. “We’re in God’s house.”
“We’re married,” I said. “You should read the Bible sometime. God’s got some pretty wild ideas about what a man and a woman can do when they’re married.”
She laughed lightly. “I suppose I should listen to your husbandly orders, right?”
“If you wanted to be a good, obedient wife, damn right.”
Her grin was wicked. “Good thing I don’t.”
“Good thing,” I echoed, tilting my head, and held her gaze there. I was tempted to step forward, touch her hips, run my fingers along her sides to her breasts—but I had other problems to worry about. “Come on,” I said, and pushed the door open.
She followed me into the bright Sunday morning. It was a lovely day, and a few parishioners still lingered on the front steps of the church. I took Mags’s hand and walked toward them, and she didn’t pull away like I expected—maybe because there were people nearby and it would look bad, or maybe because she liked it when I touched her. I didn’t question it, only pulled her closer as we walked toward the parking lot, a chain-link fence to our left, the church building to the right.
A car pulled up suddenly, brakes screaming. Several older women looked over, annoyed. I reacted only a second before the windows rolled down and the gun barrels appeared.
I shoved Mags to the side and grabbed her as we slammed up against the church wall and the gunfire started. The people screamed and scattered, and I pulled Mags down onto the ground with my body covering her. Bullets splattered all over the wall, the fence, and the sidewalk, ricocheting wildly and embedding into the concrete. I cursed and kept my head down and, fuck, for once in my life I actually prayed, I asked God to keep Mags safe.
More guns returned fire. I didn’t know who, but I knew it was from the parking lot. The shooters in the car stopped and it pulled away, driving fast.
Ronnie appeared in the group of parishioners that were down on the ground, some of them groaning and bleeding from gunshot wounds. He was one of my bodyguards, one of the two guys that I left in the parking lot. Curt came over and dragged me to my feet, making sure that I wasn’t hit.