Sins of the past

Club Paradiso was the eighth and final nightclub they had to collect profits from, and so far everything was going according to plan. "A thirty thousand." Roman counted the money loudly and when he reached 30, 500, he packed it up in a briefcase and said, "I'm gonna go take a leak. I'll meet you guys at the van in a few, okay?"

"And where do you think you're going with that briefcase, Father?" The anger laced in Federico's voice quickly halted Roman in his tracks.

"To the restroom," he replied as if it was that obvious. "Listen, I'm not taking any chances of a single dollar going missing because I'm the one who will take heat for it."

Obviously. Federico glared at him. "If you try anything funny I have clear instructions from the top to take you out."

"Chill out, I'm not stupid." Roman grumbled. "I won't try anything."

"Good, because I don't want to put a bullet in you either."

Just one heist and they wouldn't let you forget about it. He couldn't even use the damn urinal without being interrogated about it.

While he was mid-stream, a familiar voice that made Roman's stomach turn in on itself sounded way too close for comfort. "Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in today." Oh God it could've been any other day. "Word on the street was saying Roman O'Connor is now a priest in Chicago and I was the first one to call bullshit. Guess I was right after all."

In times like this, Roman wished he really believed in divine intervention.

This guy, Cruz González was Roman's nightmare brought to life—and he owed him at least half of the money packed inside the very same briefcase he was holding on to for dear life.

Cruz immediately noticed the briefcase in Roman's tight grasp and grinned. "I'm gonna hold this for you while you finish up."

"Listen, Cruz, you don't want to do this." Roman said in the smallest of voices. "Trust me on this one, the owners of that briefcase are not people you wanna be messing with. Ever heard of the Bertinellis?"

"Roman, Roman, Roman! How many times have I said your name? Everytime your mouth is running, just know lies are spewing out." Cruz tsked, shaking his head. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"I'm being serious Cru—"

"I'm done with your crap," Cruz was ragging mad and that's when Roman heard it, the unmistakable click of a gun safety being taken off. "Finish up because you are coming with me hijo de puta."

Roman frantically shook his head. "No, you gotta hear me out first."

"Let's go outside so we can have a small chat."

An antsy laugh escaped Roman. "Nah, I'm not falling for that."

"We'll go through the back," Roman jerked when Cruz patted the back of his head using the tip of his gun. "Quick, I don't have all day."

Left with no choice but to comply, Roman tried his luck once more. "That briefcase is expected by someone who will not tolerate any form of disappointment."

Cruz scrunched his forehead. "Now that's not my problem, Roman. It's yours."

"Trust me, it's gonna be your problem when the owner comes out here searching."

"Guess what?" Cruz spat. "I don't give a shit. Now move."

***



Saint spoke in low, yet soft tones to Antoinette Dubois who was taking way too long to put her signature on a business clause and asking way too many unnecessary questions about how exactly this new deal would benefit her family back in the West Coast.

Screw the deal—with how experienced she was in this type of business, she was obviously stalling for a reason.

Federico knew he wasn't going to receive the same supple treatment from the boss. He could already foresee it, the rumbling and trembling, almost dangerous. Like subdued thunder.

"Boss, a word?"

Saint folded his arms and gave Federico a deadly, silent-fury look—all obvious signals he did not appreciate the sudden interruption of his private meeting with his guest.

By all means Federico tried looking completely put together. He failed miserably.

With a small sigh, Saint finally tilted his head forward, then looked at him, again. "Can it wait?"

"I'm afraid not." Federico was quick to supply making the boss frown.

Speaking in a French accent left over from her childhood spent in Marseille, Antoinette uttered. "I see you have other important commitments awaiting for you, Santino."

Saint stopped glaring and relaxed his deadly stance."I'm sorry we'll have to cut our meeting short Madame Dubois," he gave Antoinette an apologetic smile. "I'll see if there's something I can do to make up for the inconvenience."

Antoinette waved him away with a gloved hand as if she belonged in a Bridgerton episode. "Perhaps we should just name a date for our next meeting?"

"I will make sure to check my calendar and get back to you." Saint told her, rising from his seat. Antoinette did the same and gracefully straightened her skirt. "Right now I have to go."

"Okay then," she nodded along in understanding. "I will be waiting to hear from you."

"Of course."

Federico scooted aside, smiling as Antoinette finally made her way out of the grand salon. "Madame Dubois," he greeted.

She grinned back, then left. Federico waited until he could no longer see her retreating figure, then turned to address the boss.

"The priest has sort of gone missing."

The room instantly filled with tension, if Federico was still breathing he couldn't really tell. This was a royal fuckup. His royal fuckup. And this should not have happened, not on his watch.

Saint narrowed his eyes and spoke through his teeth. "What do you mean sort of gone missing?"

Federico exhaled slowly. "The last time Moretti and I saw him he was going to the restroom with the last collection from Paradiso," he took a chance to glance at the boss then quickly looked away. "So we're currently in the middle of exploring a number of scenarios."

Saint pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is there a reason why you're here reporting to me instead of turning the whole city upside down in search for him?"

Federico swallowed. "We checked the club surveillance system and someone who might be of interest to you walked the priest out of Paradiso at gun point."

"Meaning the priest is not missing if you know exactly who's got him, now is he?"

Federico prepared to answer but the boss cut him off abruptly.

"I assume you have a name."

Without missing a beat he supplied, "Cruz González."

"Cruz González?" Saint's eyebrows hiked up as he tried to string a connection in his head. "Doesn't ring any bells."

"Same Cruz guy who refused to shake your hand during the Families Peace Commission in Cataluña last year."

"And you're absolutely certain it was him."

"I'm one hundred percent positive it was Cruz on that tape."

Interesting.

"Is Sandro around?" Saint inquired, raking a couple of fingers inside his dark hair. He was at the verge of losing it.

"I'm sure he is."

"Let him know I need Cruz González's personal phone number and a live location in the next five minutes."

Even though it was a last minute type of operation, Alessandro De Agostini still managed to come through for them, as usual. In a matter of minutes Saint was ringing Cruz González's phone while pacing the grand salon like some exotic caged wild cat. It rang twice before a familiar voice came through.

"Hello?"

The bastard.

"Please put Roman on the phone." Saint sounded deceivingly calm and collected. "I'd like to speak with him."

"Roman can't come to the phone right now. You wanna know why?" A grating chuckle echoed through the phone speaker. "Because he's slightly indisposed."

Something in those words had Saint's chest expanding with unbridled red hot fury. No one touched the priest. No one.

"Now don't be rude Cruz," Saint's voice carried authority, but nothing giving away to his rage. "I was polite."

"Oh the irony."

Saint gritted his teeth, running a hand over his face in frustration. "What?"

"Maybe you've forgotten but you used to be the rudest bastard of them all, Santino." He wasn't wrong.

Saint furrowed his brow and glared at his phone as if the device had personally offended him. Cruz had dared to hang up on him. He didn't need to see the evidence of a smirk to know the cartel stronzo was feeling quite satisfied with his little performance.

After a full beat, Saint turned to address Sandro. "Did you manage to trace his location?"

Sandro nodded once. "He's at some abandoned warehouse downtown. I've send the location to your phone."

"Looks like I have places to be." Saint cracked his hands and Federico instantly trotted after him out of the grand salon.