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“What about Tavano?” I ask. “I can’t have him showing up again and raising questions.”

“I told you I’d handle Vieri Tavano myself,” the voice replies, calm and absolute. “Have I ever failed you in twenty years?”

I fall silent.

My hand grips the phone tighter.

“Good,” the voice says again, firmer now. “So trust me. Do as I say, and you’ll be rewarded. As you’ve always been.”

“…Thank you,” I murmur.

“You know what, Father?” The voice softens, almost amused. “Say a prayer this time. It’s been years… but our plans are finally bearing fruit.”

I swallow and close my eyes.

“Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum…”

I recite the prayer slowly, steadily, the words old and heavy on my tongue.

“Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra…”

I continue, shifting into a second chant—a deeper invocation in Latin, one we used in the older circle. One we swore never to speak aloud unless the time had come.

When I finish, there’s a pause on the other end of the line.

“Amen,” the voice grates. “I feel rejuvenated. Prayer is the key, isn’t it?”

The line goes dead.

I return the phone to the hook and walk to the window.

Then I light another cigarette and the ember glows in the dark.

Chapter Nine – Vieri

The sharp crack of the club striking the ball echoes across the fairway.

I follow its arc with my eyes, a perfect trajectory toward the third flag.

Behind me, I hear Bugatti shift his weight on the gravel path. He’s always stiff in places like this. His shoes crunch lightly as he adjusts his stance, his coat rustling in the morning breeze.

“Speak,” I say, lowering the club and tapping it once against the ground.

“Carmela Fiore is working fast.”

I raise a brow but keep my posture relaxed.

“My men at immigration flagged her. She got passports and visas. One for herself. One for the girl.”

I turn fully now, resting the club over my shoulder. The weight of it balances easily in my grip.

“It’s only been two days.”

Bugatti nods once. “She paid more than most men earn in a year to get it processed overnight.”

I tilt my head slightly. “Lena and Vasco must’ve left the girl a fortune.”

“Looks like it,” he mutters. “And the old woman’s using every cent of it to disappear.”