THE PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA

CHAPTER  TWENTY  SEVEN                                                            ( PT.  1 ) - The afternoon sun made its last tribute to the day as the car journeyed back to Christiano's hometown. Enzo rubbed his bloodshot eyes while Ricardo concentrated on the his face. I knew I should have killed the priest, but that she went crazy and you stopped me. It would have taken me a few seconds to pump some rounds into the back of that truck. And what about the old man driving? He would have been a witness. Would you have killed him too? Listen to you. Enzo's face was contemptuous. As far as I'm concerned I made the right call. The police were fast approaching and we would have been caught. I would have shot them too. So Don Primo pulls a few strings. It wouldn't be the first time. Enzo rolled his eyes. Okay tough guy, next time you do it your way. I made a judgment call, and at the time it was the safest choice. Yeah, these safe choices seem to be happened a lot lately. Wh

{ PT. } -    Sammel Gruner sat on the umber-coloured sofa in Don Primo's office sipping ice-cold water from a glass beaded with condensation. As a seasoned veteran, working as a body-guard for the rich and famous, he was accustomed to danger and fully trained in combat. However, ten to one did not carry good odds. He was outnumbered and in someone else's territory with only his wits as his weapon. Beneath the cool exterior of his dark suit and shades, he excelled in concealing the knot of dread wringing his guts into a twisted mass. From behind his desk, Don Primo scrutinised him for any weakness, any sign that he could use to his advantage. He saw none. I gather my money's in the case. Sammel's legs gripped the brief-case at his feet. That is correct. He spoke in a sharp, accented tone that was a stiff as a corpse, to the point, and replete with effciency. The briefcase contains one million euros, the second instalment as arranged with His Eminence. Don Primo's eye

( CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE )  -  { PT.  1 }                                                             As mid-morning smiled on the old Tuscan town, Christiano realised he was starving. He rummaged in his rucksack for one of the sfogliatella he has purchased from Maria and bit into the crumbly pastry. His stomach welcomed the influx of food as the bitter-sweet marzipan settled on his tongue. All the while he maintained a vigilant eyes on the building opposite. Enzo had been the first to arrive at around nine. He had parked next to a white Mercedes, which Christiano guessed belongd to Dom Primo. As he satisfied his appetite, a car reached the electric gates and entered the car park. Two stout men in their way through the restaurant's side door. Soon after, another car arrived, and for about half an hour the gate sporadically opened and closed, five more cars pulling in and parking. Each time, one or two men left their vehicle completely unaware of Christiano's surveillance. By now C

{ CHAPTER  TWENTY  FOUR }                                                                                       { PT.  1 } - Christiano reached the hilltop town in the early hours of the morning. He parked on the outskirts of a medieval citadel of monotone stone buildings that stretched up to the crest of a hill. Each structure progressively towered over the next and continued higher and higher as if on a quest to reach the heavens. He took two painkillers, waited for a few more minutes until seven o'clock and then left his vehicle. He made his way on foot along the tapered winding pathways. The sun's basking rays warmed his shoulders as he walked beneath aged stone archways and continued along a succession of circuitous roads, in what seemed like an infinite spiral. Along the way, he passed a few locals going about their business and tourists who had arrived early for a tour of the old town. As he walked, the aroma bread wafted to his nostrils. His grumbling stomach reminded h