Chapter 33

Benedict

I stand in the shadows of the church, observing as Nate and Eva settle into a pew near the front row. The familiar rhythm of the congregation’s murmur and the soft rustle of programs create a backdrop to the unsettling turmoil in my chest. I can’t shake the feeling of frustration that our conversation the other night was abruptly cut short. I was on the verge of revealing something crucial, something that’s been weighing heavily on me.

I wanted to tell her the truth. I wanted to tell her that I’m not just a priest, but a federal agent working undercover on a high-stakes case against the Delgados. I’d also hoped to broach the subject of her ex-husband, whose entanglements with this criminal network complicate matters even further. But I need to navigate that revelation delicately, given the emotional stakes.

As I watch Eva’s calm demeanor, I can’t help but wonder about the myriad reactions she might have when she learns the full extent of my deception. Will she be relieved to know I’ve been working to protect her and her son? Or will she feel a deep sense of betrayal, discovering that the man she’s trusted is not who he seems?

The uncertainty gnaws at me. Will she see me as an ally, or will my revelation only drive a wedge between us? I’m tormented by the thought of losing her trust and, more importantly, the connection that’s grown between us. I know that this truth could shatter everything we’ve built, but it’s also the only way to bring us closer to the resolution we both need.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts. I move toward the dais, a haste in my steps to get this service started and over.

Before I even begin the sermon, the air shifts—heavy, thick with tension. The Delgados walk in like they own the place, Lazarus leading the charge with his cold, calculating eyes scanning the room. My pulse spikes, and I can feel the weight of their presence settling like a dark cloud over the congregation.

My gaze darts toward Eva. She’s seated near the front, oblivious at first, until she notices the intensity of my stare. I give her a subtle nod in the direction of the men near the back. Her eyes widen as they follow my cue, locking onto the dangerous group. The panic that flickers across her face twists my gut, and I have to stop myself from rushing over to her.

I slip my phone out and shoot off a quick text.

Me: They won’t recognize you as long as you don’t get too close.

She glances down at her phone, reading the message with shaking hands. Her eyes flash back up to mine, filled with fear but also a steely resolve. She knows who those men are. She knows what they’re capable of. But as long as she stays calm, I remind myself, they’ll never make the connection.

In truth, she could walk right past them, and they wouldn’t have a clue who she is. To them, women like Lina are disposable. The whores, the dancers—they blend together in the minds of men like the Delgados. They’ve probably seen so many women come and go at Club Greed that picking her out from the crowd would be impossible. In their world, women are faceless, nameless bodies used for pleasure and then forgotten.

She clutches Nate tighter, pulling him close to her side as if her grip alone could shield him from the wolves lurking in the back of the church. The way she protects her son is fierce, instinctive. I can see her trying to stay calm for his sake, but her hand trembles as it rests on his shoulder. I feel my jaw clench, wanting to tear these men apart for bringing fear into a place of peace.

Eva’s eyes lock on mine again, and in that moment, I know she’s holding it together, but barely. She trusts me to keep her safe, but how can I do that when danger has walked right through the doors of the one place she should feel secure?

I shift my stance, ready to act if necessary, and keep one eye on the Delgados, watching their every move. I can’t let them get close to her. Not here. Not now.

I begin the service, the words slipping from my mouth automatically, like I’ve done a thousand times before, but today they feel empty. They blur together, the meaning behind them lost as my mind races with darker thoughts. My focus isn’t on the scripture or the congregation, but on the men standing in the back of my church.

Lazarus Delgado is watching me, his dark eyes cool and calculating, the weight of his presence heavy. He trusts me. At least, he thinks he does. I’m the priest he comes to for confession, the man he sees as a spiritual advisor, but if he knew the truth… I can’t even imagine the consequences.

I did ask him to come. In some strange way, I thought it would solidify my cover, but now that he's here, it feels like a trap. Why today? Why now? A thousand questions churn through my mind, but I don’t have the luxury of answers…not yet. My pulse quickens, and I force myself to breathe evenly, to keep my voice steady. It’s like walking a tightrope between two worlds—one foot in the role of priest, the other in the role of a federal agent.

Part of me is tempted to spill the intel I gathered on Christopher, to tell Lazarus that his favorite lawyer was seen at Club Throwdown this weekend, rubbing shoulders with Yuri Checkov, the bratva boss. How would he react to that? Would it spark a war between the Delgados and the Russians? Or would he shrug it off, a mere annoyance in the tangled web of criminal alliances?

My thoughts spiral as I glance at Eva. She’s sitting there, trying her best to look calm, her body angled protectively around Nate. She has no idea how deep this goes, how dangerous these men are. And here I am, juggling secrets that could blow this entire operation sky-high.

Lazarus shifts his stance, his fingers tapping lightly against his thigh, as if he’s waiting for something… or someone. I can’t help but wonder if he’s here for more than just the service. Does he know? Could he have caught wind of my true identity? Or is this just a show of power, a reminder that even here, in God’s house, the Delgados rule?

I keep my voice steady, but the unease gnaws at me. Every word I utter feels like a lie, a thin veil of piety covering the truth. My hands grip the edge of the podium, knuckles white, and I resist the urge to meet Lazarus’s gaze too often. He trusts me, but trust is a fragile thing in this world.

And I wonder how long I can keep walking this line before it all falls apart?

After the service, I force myself to mingle with a few churchgoers, exchanging small pleasantries, though my mind is elsewhere. Eva ducked out the moment it ended, slipping away before I could say a word. I don’t blame her. The Delgados being here has probably shaken her to her core. But I need to see her, to make sure she’s okay. And to explain things, though I’m not sure where to even begin.

My eyes scan the room, half-listening to a sweet elderly woman thanking me for the sermon, but it’s not long before I spot Lazarus lingering near the back entrance, arms folded, his expression unreadable. He’s waiting for me.

I give him a nod and offer a quick goodbye to the parishioners before making my way down the aisle, each step feeling heavier than the last. His men stand beside him, their presence a bold reminder of the world we’re both tangled in.

"Father," Lazarus greets me with a faint smile, though there’s an edge in his voice, as if this meeting isn’t entirely casual. "Is there somewhere we can go to talk?"

I nod, forcing a smile of my own. "Of course. We can meet in my office."

Without another word, I lead him and his men down the narrow hallway at the back of the church. The sound of their footsteps echoes off the walls, reminding me of the dangerous company I’m keeping. My pulse quickens with every step, my thoughts racing ahead, trying to anticipate where this conversation will lead.

The hallway feels too short as we reach the door to my office. I push it open, gesturing for Lazarus to enter first. He steps inside, his eyes scanning the modest room—a simple desk, a few chairs, bookshelves filled with religious texts. It’s not much, but it serves its purpose.

His men linger by the door, standing like silent sentinels, their eyes never straying far from their boss.

Lazarus turns to me, that faint smile still playing on his lips, but his gaze is sharp, assessing. "I’ve been hearing things, Father," he says casually, though the weight of his words hangs heavy in the air. "And I thought I’d come straight to you for clarification."

I sit behind my desk, forcing myself to remain calm. "What kind of things?"

He chuckles lightly, but there’s no humor in it. "About loyalty. About certain...relationships." He leans forward slightly, resting his hands on the desk between us. "I trust you, Father. But trust is a dangerous thing in my world, as you know."

The unspoken threat is clear. My heart pounds in my chest, but I meet his gaze head-on, knowing this moment is critical. Whatever he’s here to discuss, I need to tread carefully.

"I’ve only ever served this church and its congregation," I say, keeping my voice steady. "And I serve you in the ways I’m able, as your priest."

Lazarus studies me for a long moment, his dark eyes searching mine, before he finally leans back in his chair. "Good. Then let’s talk about how you can continue to serve me."

I knew this day would come. The moment when the mob would tighten its grip on the church, twisting its sanctity for their own purposes. And now, here it is. I can’t act surprised; Lazarus using my church for his dirty dealings was something Vin and I anticipated. In fact, we were banking on it.

This is the break we’ve been waiting for.

“How can I serve you?” I ask, settling into my chair, my voice calm despite the storm brewing inside me.

Lazarus nods, clearly pleased with the tone of our conversation, like I’m playing right into his hands. “I’ve got a rat in my outfit.”

I keep my expression neutral, refusing to tip my hand too soon. “Who do you suspect?”

His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, it’s like he can see right through me. It’s unnerving, that kind of cold, calculating gaze. "I’d hate to think it’s anyone in my immediate family, but Enzo has been acting strange lately. He’s taking private meetings.”

I’m figuring out in my mind if I should tell Lazarus what I know. “Have you had him followed?”

Lazarus nods slowly, as though considering his next move. “Do you think I should?”

A chill runs down my spine, and my heart pounds in my chest. “What do you know about Christopher Matthews?”

He shrugs, as if the question is hardly worth considering. “He helps us, we help him.”

I lean back in my chair, deciding to push just a little further. “And the Russians?”

A flicker of disgust crosses Lazarus’ face. He shifts in his seat, clearly agitated. “What about the filthy Russians?”

This is my moment. I pull out my phone, scrolling to the picture I took at Club Throwdown. I tilt the screen toward him. “Saw your man Enzo with Christopher there the other night. They met with Yuri Chekov.”

Lazarus’ eyes narrow as he looks at the photo. It’s a shot of Christopher, deep in conversation with Enzo and Yuri. His expression tightens, anger flashing briefly before he masks it. “I see,” he says, his voice low and measured.

He stands abruptly, straightening his jacket as if brushing off the whole conversation. “You’ve been very helpful, Father.”

I watch as he strides out of my office, his men trailing behind him like shadows. The door closes softly, but the tension in the air remains, thick and suffocating. My heart slams around in my chest, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

What is Christopher up to? And what’s his connection to the Russians? I stare down at the phone in my hand, my mind racing.

The pieces are coming together, but the full picture remains terrifyingly unclear.