Page 93 of The Pawn

“You don’t have to do that. I’m all right on my own.”

“I’ll come anyway.”

“Fine.”

He follows me to the back door and unlocks it to let me out. It’s chilly and I pause to grab one of Cassian’s jackets. It’s huge and makes me feel safer when I slip my arms into it and hug it close.

Enzo’s phone rings. He checks the display. “Wait for me.”

“I’ll just be right out here.”

He hesitates, but nods and answers the call.

The night is dark and windy, but at least it stopped raining for the moment, although the storm is nowhere near over. Lights from the house illuminate the grounds alongside dim garden lighting set artfully here and there. The earth is a sopping mess. My boots squelch as I walk through the old graveyard. I think of Michael under the ground now. Cold and dark and wet. He used to be afraid of the dark when he was little. Dad would get angry with him when he’d have nightmares. I’d wake up because of Dad’s yelling and Michael’s crying.

I’d forgotten about that. I’d forgotten he was a little boy once.

How different would his life have been if mom hadn’t been killed? How different would he have been?

Maybe not at all. We are still the Moretti mafia family. And he was my father’s successor. So maybe not at all.

I check my phone again for any more messages from Amal, but there still aren’t any. I’m worried about her.

The wind picks up and the rain begins anew. I push my hands into the pockets of Cassian’s jacket. The lights from the kitchen go out and I’m surprised by how much of animpact that has out here. Now, all the light is from the decorative lighting which isn’t much at all.

I should head back, but the rain intensifies, and I duck under a canopy of trees to wait for the worst of it to pass. I’m trying not to think about the fact that I’m standing at the edge of a graveyard. I take the phone out again, scroll to Cassian’s number, but stop myself from calling. He’ll think something is wrong if I do and he needs to take care of his brother right now.

I consider running to the house when I see a shape coming from there. It must be Enzo and he’s carrying an umbrella.

He stops to search for me. I’m hidden out here beneath these trees.

Relieved, I call out to let him know where I am.

He turns and heads toward me, keeping his head down against the punishing rain.

“Figured you were stuck,” he says once he reaches me. “And Cassian told me not to let you out of my sight.”

“I thought I’d wait out the worst of it.”

“The path is pretty muddy. I’ll take you around the other side. There’s an entrance there we can use.”

“What entrance?”

“Leads to the door for Azazel’s chapel.”

I’d seen that door. “I’d wondered about that. I tried it though, from inside. It’s sealed or at the very least, locked.”

“I have the key. Come on before we’re soaked through.”

“It’s a little late for that,” I say with an attempt at a smile. “Are you sure the door’s not sealed?”

“I’m sure.” It looked like it hadn’t been used in years if ever. But I go ahead of him as he extends his arm, so the umbrella shields me from the worst of the rain. When I slipin the mud, he catches me, stopping me from falling. We get to the door, and he hands me the umbrella as he reaches into his pocket for the key.

I hold it over us and look around to where I can see a few soldiers huddled under an overhang to keep dry.

“Why don’t we just go in from the front. We’re close enough,” I say, turning as I finish my sentence, but stopping short when I do.

Enzo is standing, watching me. It’s not a key in his hand, but something else. A small plastic bag he’s opening.