Page 67 of Vicious Behaviors

“Yes, I…” he clears his throat, glancing away. “I was mugged.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I say, my tone laced with empathy, watching him closely.

“Isn’t that just awful?” Sister Agnes shakes her head. “If even a priest isn’t safe walking to church, then what hope do the rest of us have?”

“Yes. Quite,” he echoes, his previous warmth now gone, replaced by a stiff and guarded posture.

From this brief interaction with Father Torres, I can say two things about him. He might be a beloved priest in this parish, but that doesn’t stop him from lying through his teeth. There is no way he got mugged on the same day Father McDonagh vanished. It’s just too much of a coincidence for two such ill-gotten incidents to befall two priests on the same day.

“Sister Agnes mentioned your recent misfortune,” I say casually, still watching him carefully. “What bad luck to have been mugged on the same day Father McDonagh disappeared.”

“I’m not sure what you’re implying,” he replies with a clipped voice.

“I meant nothing by it, Father. Just my own observation. You being attacked, and Father McDonagh vanishing… on the same day, no less… feels oddly timed.”

“It was my own fault,” he says flatly. “I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. I guess I’m out of practice living in such a large and tumultuous city as Chicago. As for Father McDonagh… who’s to say what happened? Maybe he had a crisis of faith. Maybe he’s out there trying to find his way back to us.”

“From what Sister Agnes has told me, he didn’t sound like the type to waver in his convictions. But then again, I didn’t know him like you did. She said he was your mentor here.”

His expression sharpens. “God is my only mentor, Miss Graham. Man cannot compare to His guidance.” His words transmit such finality that I can tell he wants me to drop the topic altogether.

I’m about to push further when we’re interrupted. “Father?” a voice calls from the back of the chapel.

We turn to see a young man walking toward us. I recognize him instantly—Enzo Romano. His photos don’t do him justice, since he lucked out in the good looks department like Marcello. In the pictures the Bureau provided, Enzo is all swagger and sly smirks. However, the man standing before me now is closed off and cold. And by the look in his eyes, not impressed with me in the slightest.

Father Torres smiles at Enzo, but it comes off tight. There’s something nervous about the way his shoulders stiffen.

“Enzo,” he says. “Have you come for confession?”

Enzo’s eyes lock with mine for a beat too long. Then he nods. “Yes, Father.”

“Very well.” Father Torres turns to Sister Agnes. “Excuse me, but confession must take precedence over this visit. Miss Graham, a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” I say smoothly. “Maybe I’ll attend one of your sermons sometime.” His returning smile is strained.

Father Torres then turns around, and along with Enzo, they walk in sync toward the confessional.

Something about the way they move together puts my instincts on high alert. It’s subtle, but the dynamic between them is off. Forced and yet too familiar in a way it shouldn’t be.

This impromptu visit to Sacred Heart has paid off in more ways than one. If Haynes is right and Marcello had something to do with Father McDonagh’s disappearance, then I’m almost certain Father Torres knows more about it than he’s willing to let on. He’s hiding something. How he’s involved is still unclear. But something tells me I’ve just knocked the first stone into solving this case.

Chapter 15

Marcello

I know something’s wrong the minute I step into my father’s office downtown. When I usually drop by at the end of the day, it’s just Vincent there waiting for me. The daily meeting is supposed to be your run-of-the-mill check-in, but in reality, it’s my father’s way of gauging where my head’s at. His way of making sure if it were me all day dealing with business, or if I’d letittake control.

No matter what he’s let others believe in the Outfit, my father isn’t about to hand me the keys to the kingdom unless he’s a hundred percent sure I can handle it. And when I sayit,I mean the voice in my head.

He might be fine with me letting the monster out of its cage when I’m dealing with other monsters, but when it comes to the crème de la crème of Chicago’s most influential people—the same people who ensure Outfit business runs right under the authorities’ noses—he wants to be certain I’ve got the finesse and cool-under-pressure smarts to handle that side of the business.

Movies and TV shows portray usmafiosos like we just shoot at each other all day, but they’d be surprised by the amount of bureaucracy we have to wade through just to make sure every hard-earned dollar is squeaky clean.

But alas, today my mental well-being seems to have taken a back seat to more pressing matters. That’s the only thing I can justify for walking into my father’s office and seeing Giovanni and Dominic also there.

“Take a seat, Marcello,” my father says from behind his desk.

Gio leans against its corner in front of me, arms crossed, taking in every inch of me as if trying to read something written on my skin. Dom stands behind my father, ever the loyal soldier and enforcer. I don’t bother asking what’s wrong. They will tell me soon enough.