Broken Songbird (Vicious Games #2)

24. Chapter 24

A choir sings an angelic hymn, the beautiful sound filling the vast space. The church is fairly full, but there’s still a healthy gap between where Enzo’s tall frame sits next to Del in the back pew.

Lucas, another Herrington henchman, and Bull and Hawk sit behind them.

Raphael sits next to Enzo, with a gap between them, and next to him is Jace. The two suited guys behind them, I’m assuming, are Dragone security.

Creed waits for me to slide into the pew next to Del. She smiles at me as I sit next to her and take one of her hands into my lap.

I lean forward and give Raphael a little wave in greeting; he gives me a smile and nod in return, but frowns at Creed behind me. Creed sits, draping his arm across the pew, squeezing Del’s shoulder in greeting.

Enzo cuts him a look. “You’re late.”

I feel Creed shrug. “We had a detour.”

Enzo lets out a soft, exasperated breath, then turns back to the service happening. I watch a handsome priest read from what I’m assuming is a Bible.

I lean into Del. “Is that the priest?”

She elbows me, but her smirk says everything.

Creed pulls me closer to him so his lips are brushing my earlobe again. “Gossiping about Father Michael?”

I turn my head, looking into his honey-brown eyes, our lips almost touching. He takes the opportunity to steal a less-than-chaste kiss. Lust heats my skin as my hand grabs his cut, pulling him that little bit closer.

A throat clearing from Enzo pulls us apart reluctantly, Creed’s eyes burning with scalding intention and a wicked grin stretching across his face, those damn piercings glinting in the warm lights.

He finally drags his eyes away to behind me and snorts a soft laugh, then sits back, looking forward, his hand playing with a tendril of hair that has escaped my bun.

I feel my phone vibrate in my bag, so I slip it out and read the message.

DEL

Confessional is open if you two need some privacy.

This time, I elbow her, enticing a soft, choked snicker, and then message her back.

Unlike you, heathen, I respect this place of worship.

DEL

You aren’t even Catholic.

Says the actual Catholic who desecrated said confessional.

DEL

It was definitely worth it.

I look up, exchanging a soft smile with her. After everything she’s gone through, she deserves this happiness. She deserves everything .

I look back at my phone.

I’m a hypocrite. We already defiled the parking lot.

Del gasps softly.

AND the entrance.

“Scarlett,” she whispers between our quiet snickers.

Enzo clears his throat and we settle, watching the mass in silence for a moment, listening to Father Michael’s smooth voice echo through the vast space.

Movement in my periphery catches my attention as four men appear at the end of the aisle. They are all dressed in expensive suits, all seem to be in their late twenties or thirties, except for one man who’s probably in his fifties or sixties.

The older man and the one next to him nod in greeting in Enzo and Raph’s direction as the four of them slide into the empty pew in front of us, placing themselves directly in front of Enzo.

“Mr. Dragone. Mr. Herrington,” the older man says without turning around.

“Mr. Bellucci,” Raph responds in greeting. “Leo.”

“It’s been a while, Raph,” the younger man to Mr. Bellucci’s left says.

“You seem to handle business matters differently in Melbourne,” Mr. Bellucci comments, his head angling to eye me and Del disapprovingly before shifting back to look ahead.

“Because a group of well-suited men congregated in a secret huddle with bikers isn’t suspicious at all ,” Del comments, and I have to fight the laugh bubbling in my chest.

Leo turns and appraises Del briefly before turning forward again. “You chose well, Enzo.”

“What can you get to us by the end of the week?” Enzo asks, his tone curt and all business.

Leo rattles off a bunch of numbers and corresponding construction materials. It sounds like gibberish, but I’ve worked out between this meeting and the one at Matteo’s dinner that it’s a code for their product. Enzo and Raph reply with more numbers, Creed chimes in here and there, and I drown out their words, focusing back on the church service.

I’ve never been to a regular church service, but I understand the appeal to some. Having somewhere that gives you the opportunity to unburden yourself of your own decisions must be nice. Settling in a way.

But I know of the horrors that have happened behind the altar or in the name of God, and I could never subscribe to a belief that so often shifts blame from perpetrators to victims.

I focus again when the chatter around me stops as an older woman walks toward our group with a kind smile and a large velvet-lined brass tray. She passes it to the suited guy next to Leo. The tray has a couple of notes and a small pile of change on it.

The suit holding it fishes out a few fifty-dollar bills from his pocket and places it on the tray, then holds it out to the others in his row. The other suited guy on the end does the same, dropping in a few fifties, and then Leo and the Mr. Bellucci each pull out a wad of hundred-dollar bills and throw it on the pile.

The suit twists and passes the tray to Creed, who uncurls from me and takes it, then starts pulling out wads of hundred-dollar bills from his pocket. I balk at the amount of cash on this tray, and so does the woman who brought it over.

Also, where the hell was he holding all of that cash? I didn’t feel any of it when we were—

I suck in a breath when Creed reaches past me and Del, holding the tray out to Enzo, using the opportunity to brush his arm over my still-sensitive breasts. I should have worn a different bra.

Enzo, Raph, and Jace do the same as Creed, dumping multiple wads of cash on the tray and then Creed retracts his arm.

Hawk’s arm appears over my shoulder to add to the huge pile of green and gold.

“You know,” he murmurs softly near my ear. “For the Lord.”

Hawk chuckles as he sits back, and the muscle in Creed’s jaw jumps as he passes the tray back to the woman in the aisle.

“God bless you all,” she gushes and scurries off with her overflowing tray of dirty money.

I lean into Creed’s side. “I didn’t think you were all so charitable .”

He slings his arm across the pew again, pulling me closer and bending to my ear. “Not charity.”

My questioning is interrupted by everyone standing, and we follow suit. Father Michael says something about ‘the sign of peace’, and then the congregation turns to each other, shaking hands.

Leo and Mr. Bellucci turn to face us. They each shake Enzo’s and Raph’s hands, muttering a ‘peace be with you’ each time.

Mr. Bellucci deigns the rest of us with a dismissive glare then turns to face the front of the church.

Leo, in comparison, reaches for Del’s right hand, clasping it in both of his. “Leonardo Bellucci. Friends like you call me Leo.”

“Del,” she bites out. I can almost feel her restrain from ripping her hand out of his grasp—she doesn’t like being touched.

“It’s a pleasure to meet the future Mrs. Herrington,” he continues. “Peace be with you.”

“And you,” she says, finally pulling her hand away.

Leo turns to me. He’s tall, maybe a little over six-foot, and fit but not overly bulky. His tailored, deep brown suit looks almost black, matching the colour of his full head of swept-back, short waves and bringing out the green in his hazel-green eyes.

He’s attractive, and with that smile, he definitely knows it. He holds his hand out to me, and I play his game, sliding mine over his palm. “And who might you be?”

“Scarlett.”

He dips his chin. “Leo Bellucci.”

“I’m aware.”

“Oh?”

“You just introduced yourself to Del,” I say with a saccharine grin.

Leo chuckles, the sound deceptively warm. “I did.”

Before he can ask me any further questions, I slip my hand out of his hold as the congregation collectively sinks to their knees, and some of our group follows.

After another round of prayers, people stand and file into an orderly line in the aisle, stepping up to Father Michael that gives them what looks like tabs in their hands.

Del, Enzo, and Raph shuffle out of our row, followed by both Belluccis, all of them joining the line to the priest.

I turn to Creed. “If it’s not charity, then what was with all the cash? Dick-measuring with the new people?”

He grins. “A little. But it’s also one way we wash cash.”

“So the church…”

Creed nods, answering my implied question. The church is another front for one of the city’s demons sitting here right now. I’m going to guess Raph.

“And Father Michael?” I ask softly.

“Ordained, but connected,” he says.

“Henchman or club brother?”

“Henchman,” Creed confirms.

I watch the service with new fascination as the Belluccis, Enzo, Raph, and Del return to their spots, all five of them kneeling for a short time, heads bowed in prayer, and then take their seats.

There’s no more business talk, and we stay until the service is finished and the congregation dissipates.

Our whole group stands and exits to the side alcoves in front of the infamous confessional.

“Two weeks,” Enzo states to the Belluccis.

Mr. Bellucci nods. “Our men will start packing it while we settle terms.”

“We’re here until Saturday,” Leo adds.

“That’s a long time to be in my city,” Raphael comments. He’s more tense than usual, closed off and very Business Raph.

“Michaelson insists we stay for a gala on Friday,” Leo explains. “His firm runs—”

“A nonprofit his old firm represents ,” I clarify instinctually, drawing everyone’s attention.

He’s talking about the gala my mum is attending to raise awareness for the nonprofit her firm represents that help kids and adolescents from marginalised communities access comprehensive sex education and free healthcare.

Leo smiles. “You know Austin Michaelson?”

Austin Michaelson was the managing partner of the law firm for years alongside my mum before he became a barrister. So yeah, I definitely know him. He also happens to be the Herrington’s lawyer. My mum is Raphael’s lawyer.

“Family acquaintance.”

“And which family might that be?” the older Bellucci asks.

I look over at him. He’s slightly shorter than Leo, similarly built, with greying black hair, and a permanent scowl on his handsome, aging face. I’m assuming he’s Leo’s father, as they have the same green-hazel eyes.

“Salvatore,” Raph says in a warning tone. “Basta.”

“Who are you, girl?” Salvatore demands.

Creed angles himself in front of me, and Hawk steps up to my side.

“Watch your tone when you speak to her,” Creed says, his voice too calm . It sends a shiver down my spine.

Salvatore continues to sneer at me, waiting for my answer, ignoring the hands slowly itching toward concealed weapons.

I’m assuming he’s the leader of the Bellucci family, and most obviously mafia like Raph, but I’m surprised that Salvatore doesn’t incite fear in me. He reminds me of the pompous assholes in elite circles that think just because they have money that they deserve respect and then demand it in unnecessarily vicious ways.

Maybe I’m immune to these power plays after being exposed to so much of the underworld recently. Or maybe it's the fact that Enzo, Raph and Creed each have more power oozing from their pores than Salvatore and combined they're a lethal force you’d be stupid to contest, which makes me think of Salvatore as a little fish way out of his depth.

“Is this shit sorted?” Creed asks, not taking his eyes off Salvatore, pulling my attention out of my reverie.

“I’ll write up the contracts,” Leo says carefully, his eyes scanning everyone.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Creed says to the group, curling his arm around my waist and backing us away. Once Hawk and Bull are between us and the group, Creed finally turns us around, and we head for the exit, still feeling foreign eyes watching us leave.