Indiscretions of a God

by Sunniva Dee

  I stand too, a head taller.

  “I mean it, Isaias. You need to get away from me. This… None of this can happen.”

  “Oh, you’re judging me for my heritage? And here I thought the nun thing was our buzzkill,” I joke. Bruno enters the side door, shaking his head reassuringly. I nod once and return to my new favorite sparring partner.

  “I don’t associate with criminals,” she says.

  “And I’ve already told you I’m not a criminal.”

  “Interesting, because in my book you’re a mobster.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Are you a mechanic?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I shrug. “Your dad’s a mechanic, and you’re not. My dad’s a mobster, and I’m not. See? You’re a nun wannabe, while I’m the owner of five legitimate businesses. I pay my taxes—overpay, actually. And I offer health and dental insurance to my employees. I’m boring, Tatiana.” The gun feels heavy in my pocket.

  “Why would I take your word for that?” she snaps. “Plus, if you love your family, you should stay away from me.”

  I furrow my brow. “And why’s that?”

  Exasperated, she brushes a hand over the side of her face, and I help her remove a beautiful long coil of silky hair. She lets me.

  “Nothing. I just don’t want to get involved in anything crazy.”

  “What about Love Child?” I tease. From her expression, she’s not biting.

  My amusement dissipates; the minutes are ticking away. I need her out of here. Now.

  “Okay, so you don’t want to get involved in anything crazy.” I take her face in my hands and tip it upward. The fabric of her headdress feels raspy compared to her skin. “I’ll be frank with you: that’s exactly why you should take an early night. See, it’s not me you need to stay away from. Something damn unpleasant will go down here tonight, and I don’t want you in the crossfire.”

  “Really? Well, I must say your story about not being a mobster sounds less and less believable.” The little minx actually smirks.

  I groan and press my thumb and forefinger over my nose. “I’m still a Nascimbeni, so of course I know things.”

  “O-oh, he knows things,” she mutters. Makes to grab my hands, no doubt to shift them off her person, but that’s not happening.

  “Tatiana, I can’t go into detail, but trust me in this: you will be in serious danger if you don’t get out of here before business arrives.”

  “As in Nascimbeni business?” She squints at me.

  “No. The Nascimbeni aren’t who you should be afraid of. Others, some fucking ruthless scum, will be here in twenty minutes, and they don’t take hostages.”

  Her expression blanks. “Good, because being a hostage isn’t my style.”

  What more can I say? Tatiana grew up in suburbia, in a good, law-abiding family. Of course she doesn’t understand the gravity of the situation. I consider her size. I’m contemplating throwing her kicking and screaming over my shoulder when the priest approaches us.

  “Sister Tatiana, you can leave for the day. Sir, good to see you again.” He bows his head. “I’m sorry but we’re closing early tonight. Tomorrow will be business as usual, of course.” He bows his head again, pleased with his own joke.

  “Thank you, Pater,” I murmur, dipping my head too. “I’ll be back tomorrow, then. Sister, can I give you a ride? Seems you misunderstood your work hours tonight.”

  Hands folded over his stomach, the priest smiles and watches me lead the way toward the exit. Tatiana’s face is a frozen thundercloud. Even so, she says her goodbyes and lets me open the door for her.

  Outside, I rake my stare over her expression. Her eyes don’t meet mine. Instead, she turns on her heel and stalks around the church to a small side entrance where she begins to fumble inside her pocket.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going back in.”

  “What? No, you’re not. He sent you home for the night.”

  “Exactly. You two make me curious.” She slinks inside. I follow her, hissing out objections she doesn’t heed. The door opens in to the main room at the level of the bathrooms. The priest isn’t in sight, and we make it to the front of the church without running into him.

  My phone buzzes with Bruno’s message. They’re on the church steps.

  Shit. I look around. We’re too far from anything but the entrance to the crypt. I grab her by the wrist and pull her with me.

  “What are you doing?” she wheezes out.

  “This place’s about to fill up with lowlife, and now that we’re back in again, I’ll have to make sure they don’t see you.”

  Unwilling, she stumbles along with me. She’s not fast enough. At the top of the stairs, I take her by the waist and hoist her with me downward. The front door of the church slams shut above us, and the steps of several men approach quickly. By the sound, they’re running through the main room.

  At the sacristy, they stop. I might have eavesdropped on the faint voices if it weren’t for Tatiana. As it is, though, I push her into the dim nook behind the Madonna statue of the first mausoleum.

  “Let me go.” She twists her arms out of my hold and glares up at me.

  “Okay, just don’t move. Please, trust me in this.”

  “Isaias, I’ve told you: I can take care of myself. You need to trust me.”

  “Those people up there,” I say, “are assassins. They’re murderers, Tatiana, and what they do to beautiful women is much worse. Do you understand what I’m talking about? You would be a prize to them. Look at you!”

  Suddenly, I realize I’ve said too much. Women are moody and arbitrary beings, but in some things they’re predictable, and now I have scared her shitless. In seconds, she’ll be a whimpering bundle of nerves.

  It’s okay. My first priority is to get her to safety anyway. Everything else comes second. Perhaps I can get Tatiana out at the north end of the crypt, through the iron door, which gives to the parking lot.

  “It’s a habit of yours, isn’t it, to underestimate women?” she asks quietly.

  “We’re playing more games, now?”

  The door opens, and Pater Altermatt descends the stairs first. A group of dusky men follow him, the first with a scar running diagonally over his eye.

  The Santa Colombini organization is led by three men: Amedeo, the sixty-seven-year-old patriarch, who resides and oversees all operations from Venice, Italy; his son Umberto, also stationed in Italy, and son number two, Randolfo, who takes care of business in the U.S. Which means that this meet is damn important. Because the man with the jagged scar is Randolfo Santa Colombini himself.

  I cover Tatiana’s mouth while they pass us. With the fog from her breath warming my hand, I pick up snippets of their conversation.

  “… the prettiest selection of young Indian girls you’ve ever laid eyes on, Pater. You should pick one for yourself as a token of our appreciation.”

  “Oh, I thank you, but I’m under scrutiny of the Church and can’t accept such a precious gift. I’m happy to serve, though, and get paid in regular ways,” he adds with fake humility.

  “Hmm,” Randolfo rumbles out. “Which part of the Church are we talking about?”

  They both snicker at that.

  “You can use the Blue Hall. It’s the last door to the right. Oh, and that would be them. Hold on.” Pater Altermatt strides down the corridor to the iron door. It groans metallically as he lets in what must be the Mobespierre Sanguine.

  Low greetings. I make out French accents on the new voices. Seconds later, they muffle as a different door closes behind the men.

  Before I have time to react, Tatiana’s snuck under my arm. She slides along the wall toward the first bend in the hallway. She does it like a cat, without sound, but I catch up with her quickly and seize her by the arm. She twists away easily, leaving m
e with an open fist. I’m fucking surprised at how fast that happened.

  “Don’t you want to hear what they’re talking about?” she whispers. “Because I’m going to, either way.”

  I growl out my disagreement but follow her.

  She tiptoes into the bowels of the crypt, past dimly lit altars, toward the Blue Hall. I know the place well. It’s a coveted center for my father’s more difficult meetings. Even shots are muffled by the stone walls down here.

  The door is ajar, letting sound seep out. We can see part of Pater Altermatt’s anxious back.

  “I’d be happy to. As a matter of fact, I brought just what you’re looking for. She’s just budding, with perky breasts and an intact hymen. We pride ourselves in inspecting the merchandise before we pass it on. She’s branded, tracking device implanted, as are the rest. All set to go.”

  “How many do you have ready?”

  “Fifteen, but a new shipment of about twenty-five should be at the harbor by next Friday. We’ll run them through our regular production line, so I could have them ready as soon as in two weeks.”

  I examine Tatiana from the side. Randolfo isn’t exactly mincing words, here, and I wish I could’ve censored this horror story for her.

  She displays no incredulity, no telltale signs of fear. Her glare is ferocious, full of hate so thick I can almost touch it, and I can’t help smiling at that. She meets my gaze, then, her eyes flickering down to my mouth.

  “Time to leave?” I ask quietly.

  “Hell no.” Her hand clutches something in a side pocket of her robe. If she weren’t trying to be a nun, I’d have guessed a weapon or a recorder.

  A few of the men stand. Pater Altermatt is the first out of the room. Next comes Randolfo. The remaining stay behind, talking.

  I take Tatiana’s hand and tug her with me behind the altar of the Jesus of Easter. It’s low and doesn’t actually have room for two adults behind it, so I’m forced to cover her with my body. She’s not a fan. Once they’ve disappeared in the direction of the iron door, she shoves me off her with a hiss. She gets to her feet, fixing me with a glare. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “Do what? Save you?”

  “Right. See, you, Isaias di Nascimbeni, are just in the way.”

  Goddamn, she’s cute.

  A minute later, they return to the Blue Hall. Tatiana and I hunch low again, peering out at the young woman they’ve brought back with them. She’s tall, curvy, with long jet-black hair down her back. She walks stiffly, back majestically straight despite having her hands tied behind her back.

  “Do as you’re told.” Randolfo jerks her forward when she tries to delay their progress. “I’d rather not beat you bloody in front of your new owners.”

  She sends him a fearful glance and whimpers under her gag. I’m spring-loaded. The urge to leap out and free her makes my jaw clench. At my side, Tatiana is so quiet I can’t even hear her breathe.

  “She really shouldn’t act up in front of the Mobespierre Sanguine,” the priest says in the same pious voice he uses in his sermons.

  “Ha, she won’t.” Randolfo’s pitch lowers to a derisive rumble. Only their backs are visible. He turns and stares into his slave’s face. “She knows better. Don’t you, sugar? Because when merchandise is too willful to be sold alive, there are other options.”

  This time, they shut the door when they enter the Blue Hall. Beside me, Tatiana is utterly quiet. Features still, only her eyes give away the horror she experiences on behalf of the girl waiting to be bought like livestock.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I lift my hand, wanting to caress her cheek, but she pushes it away. Tatiana’s stare doesn’t stray from that door, and for a second, I almost expect her to suggest we storm it.

  My phone buzzes.

  You good downstairs? Bruno. There are several messages before it.

  Yes. Seen anyone yet?

  Il Lince is coming in the front. Others from the back.

  From the parking lot? I type out.

  Yes.

  I’ll make sure the iron door is open.

  “What’s happening?” Tatiana asks.

  “My famiglia is here. I’m getting the door. Coming?”

  She puffs out nervous air. “Staying.”

  I straighten. Point at her, aware that my expression is stern. She doesn’t obey my commands, so this is me willing her to listen without words. A small smile appears on her face. “I know. I’ll be careful.”

  I walk down the corridor and round the corner. At the iron door, the priest has slid the bolt back on, but it’s not snapped shut. Surprise, Pater Altermatt. All threats don’t come from the outside.

  I open, let the Valley air flow in while I watch two suburbans pull up. Nascimbeni famiglia pours out of them. Silently, I hug a few. Slap some backs. Then, I usher them inside.

  One of my father’s old-timers freezes at the sight of Tatiana. Off kilter, he can’t stop staring at her. I know how he feels.

  “This is Tatiana,” I murmur. “She’s with me.”

  Tatiana nods out a quiet greeting.

  “Randolfo’s in the Blue Hall, and they’ve got a girl in there. Let’s get her out first.”

  “Cool, man.”

  Locked from the inside, the Blue Hall door doesn’t budge. Until my father’s anarchy explodes.

  “Tatiana,” I clip, meaning fucking business. “I wish you’d have listened to me.”

  Il Lince barks orders, his men storming in. Gunfire lights the air as they pulverize the lock on the Blue Hall door and leave the top half of it peppered with holes.

  “The girl!” Tatiana yells. “Careful with the girl!”

  Four Nascimbeni barge in ahead of me. Randolfo has his hostage hiked in front of him like a living shield. Threatening to kill her won’t stop my father, which he knows, so he’s shooting wildly around him. In seconds, the walls are painted red with Nascimbeni and Santa Colombini blood. A wild-eyed Mobespierre Sanguine member gets his gun knocked out of his hand but still lunges at my father. He barely gets his hands around his neck before Mario turns his skull to pulp with a round of shots.

  Randolfo’s hit in the thigh. He falls over the girl, dragging her down with him. Her head smacks against the cement floor, her eyes widening with incredulity. Then, they shut.

  I’ve used my Colt twice already, for sideways slams against the temple. It’s an efficient way to incapacitate the enemy. But now I’m done hesitating. I aim at the head and clip down the two closest Colombinis while they fight to save their capo.

  “Some help here?” I shout hoarsely. Moroder gets what I want. Together, we tip the squirming body of Randolfo Santa Colombini off the girl. I don’t know if she’s alive, but I’m not leaving her here.

  Moroder hoists her over my shoulder.

  “Watch out!” I call. He jumps to the side, but not far enough. A Mobespierre Sanguine bullet burns through his shoulder and knives a searing path across my cheek.

  I turn and stalk out of the room, knocking over a wobbling thug on the way. The girl bounces on my shoulder, air expelling from her lungs. I hope she inhales soon. My eyes dart in the direction of the iron door. There’s too much action going down that way.

  “Get the door for me,” I huff to Tatiana, who’s all eyes and no words. She bobs her head, runs ahead of me to the top of the stairs. Fuck. Two more Santa Colombini wait for us up here, and my hands are full.

  “Where’re you going, Nascimbeni cretins?” He grins with fake joviality, but what alarms me most is that he’s including Tatiana among the Nascimbeni. That’s some seriously bad news for her.

  “Actually, we are,” Tatiana says behind me. “Once you’re out of our way.”

  An ear-numbing explosion zooms past my ear, and in front of me, the gun slips from his hand and rolls to the floor. The guy’s chest sinks, dark stain growing as
he hits the tile with a groan.

  “Jesus Christ,” Colombini number two has time to say before I elbow him in the face with my free arm and watch him go down too.

  “This way.” Tatiana pulls on me. “You hear them? They’re coming up the stairs. Let’s exit through the sacristy. We can use the window there.”

  Quickly, I barricade the sacristy door with the filing cabinet before we start on the window. It’s stuck, so I lunge at it and watch the glass shatter like hale over the asphalt below us.

  “There better not be anyone waiting outside,” I mutter to myself.

  “Isn’t there always?” She peels off her robe, and a tight t-shirt and hot pants come into view. She stuffs her gun—yes, her gun—in the back pocket. There’s a drop of blood on her cheek, probably from the man she killed inside the church.

  I shake my head when she just points for me to jump out. “Who are you?”

  I get out with the girl over my shoulder. As I land, sirens scream in the distance. No doubt they’re coming for the church.

  “Fuck. My car is a block away.”

  We scan the area. We’re at the brightly lit end of the parking lot where no famiglia vehicles are parked. No one’s stationed here either, but that can change at any moment. Everyone’ll be clamoring to get away from the cops.

  “There. See the dumpster?” Tatiana whispers. “I can hide behind it with her until you’re back.”

  I examine the dumpster from afar. It’s big, a metal box about eight feet tall and twelve wide. It’s shielded by a half wall, and thick shrubbery creeps up around it on the backside. “Perfect. Let’s do it.”

  Tatiana helps me accommodate the girl under the bushes behind the dumpster. I crack off a few branches and add them to her blanket of greenery. Then, I tip Tatiana’s chin up so I can see her eyes. “Will you be okay?”

  “Yes. Run!”

  For a second, I watch her, hating the idea of leaving her behind. On impulse, I lean forward and brush a kiss over her lips. When I pull back, she blinks slowly. “Go, Isaias.”

  I do.