Devil Saint

The copper-scented tang of blood exploded across Manny Moretti’s taste buds. A silver bell twinkled against the frosted glass door as he tripped across the threshold to a nondescript coffee shop. Something wet dribbled from beneath the curls that swept across the knot on his forehead.

Strands stuck to the shredded flesh. His eyelashes clumped together. Manny blinked and threw open the thin, plywood door, ignoring the barista’s protests that only paying customers could use the restroom.

His fingers shook as he slammed the lock into place. It wouldn’t take much to send it splintering against the wall. With a single blow, the men chasing Manny would back him into a corner. He wouldn’t stay.

He just needed a moment to catch his breath. Years of living in survival mode didn’t prepare him for this. The glimpse of cold, blue steel sent him flying. Manny couldn’t outrun a gun, but he hoped a crowd would slow down his assailants.

Burying his face in his arms, he tried to ignore the door shuddering in its frame. The stitch in Manny’s side made him worry he’d been shot. More voices clamored for attention as the door swelled a second time. It rang out like a bullet in the small, cramped space with the tinkering glassware.

Maybe he made a mistake coming here. He didn’t want to draw his last next to a urinal. Nor could he forgive himself for putting innocent bystanders into the line of danger.

Every bone in his body ached.

Manny unfolded a piece of paper damp with sweat. He didn’t recognize the person who thrust it toward him. He couldn’t make out the name they included in their spiky penmanship. Manny’s heart skipped a beat as he stared at the address.

Could he take such a risk blindfolded? He had no way of vetting their safety, but he couldn’t stay here. It reeked of ammonia. The pipes rattled with age, and outside, people with no knowledge of the situation discussed Manny’s fate.

One of the customers suggested they call the police. His ears rang. When the hospital demanded to see his insurance card, he would be awash with shame. Manny didn’t know how many of the local force or emergency room workers were on the de Luca family’s payroll. It might not be the smartest move, but the stranger seemed like his best option.

Manny’s legs wobbled beneath him. The eerie silence that fell over the cafeteria could’ve been a trap. What if he opened the door to find himself at eye level with the gun?

A hand reached for Manny’s shoulder. His shirt stuck to his skin. The thin sheen of sweat made him rife in a sea of floral-scented perfumes and bergamot. He didn’t belong here.

He gritted his teeth to stop from swinging at the invasive touch. They were trying to help. Manny didn’t know whether they had driven the man from the bar, but he needed as many allies as he could get.

His surroundings blurred, as if he were staring through a pinhole. He staggered to the door. Another moment’s hesitation overtook Manny. Maybe they were waiting for him at one of the shop windows across the street. He wouldn’t be able to avoid the barrage of bullets. Yet the longer he stayed here, the more likely that he would find himself a victim of the heavy police presence.

Manny and the authorities didn’t mix well. A brisk wind cut through his damp shirt. He shivered, folding his arms across his chest, and slinking toward the curb. Somebody had ordered a cab.

He didn’t acknowledge the questioning stare as he gripped the door handle.

The cab driver’s eyes bored holes into Manny when he crawled into the back.

“I don’t want any trouble,” he barked.

He thrust the folded-up piece of paper into the cab driver’s clammy hand. In his peripheral vision, he noticed movement from the antique clothing store. A face glowered down at the streets from a circular-shaped window.

Another shiver ripped through Manny’s spine. The quicker he got out of here, the better. His cracked phone screen flickered as he tried to open his banking app.

Manny didn’t have any money. His chin drooped toward his chest. Exhaustion weighed his eyelids at the thought of having to fight for another minute. Maybe he should’ve confronted the gunman.

At least then, he wouldn’t have to deal with this god-awful tiredness. He didn’t open them as they lurched past a red light. Though he muttered under his breath the entire time, the cab driver didn’t leave Manny to fend for himself.

His erratic driving would’ve made it difficult for anybody tailing them.

A murmur of surprise followed as they arrived at the gated driveway. Manny didn’t hear the exchange between the driver and the owner. It felt like somebody plunged his head into a bucket of ice water while everything unfolded around him. Static punctuated the man’s sentences. Then, the gate creaked, and they were moving again.

Were they expecting him?

His knuckles scraped the door frame. At the end of the flagstone path, Manny heard another staccato burst of swears. The driver’s shoes scuffed the pavement as he lurched toward the fenced-in porch. The doorbell jolted Manny’s fingers as a sweet-sounding melody rippled through the house.

A man with bulging biceps caught him before he could face-plant into the foyer. Then, mercifully, everything turned black.

The pins and needles in Manny’s legs made it hard for him to find his footing. An arm cinched his waist as the world came back into focus. Stunning blue eyes swam into view in a living room that looked like it belonged in a museum.

His features hardened at Manny’s disheveled clothes. The cut of his jaw impressed Manny, who slid his hands beneath his lap to stop from fidgeting. Earnest blue eyes gazed into his as the owner of the house leaned toward him. According to the piece of paper, he should’ve been speaking to a Robert Santiago, but Manny had no way of confirming this.

“How did you get this address? Do I know you?”

When he leaned forward, the muscles in Robert’s chest tightened. Strands of silver hair did nothing to soften his appearance, instead making him look more intense as he prodded Manny for more information.

Feeling like a bug under a microscope, Manny shifted positions and cleared his throat to try to avoid answering the question. He hadn’t done anything—wrong place, wrong time. Trusted the wrong people, but that shouldn’t have been a death sentence.

The throbbing in his head made it hurt to keep his eyes open. He lay parallel on a sofa that hadn’t been littered with cigarette holes or fleas. Not a single item of clothing had been removed either, for better or worse. If he had found a slice of silence, the stranger would’ve already ordered Manny to his knees.

“I need your help,” he gasped.

“Start talking.”

“Somebody gave me this.” He thrust the slip of paper into the stranger’s hand, certain that he had found his intended target. “I don’t know who they were or where they came from.”

He tried drawing himself into an upright position, but the bruises on his rib cage groaned in protest.

“You’re not going anywhere right now, so you might as well lie down. Take your time and walk us through what happened,” Robert told him.

Manny didn’t have the energy to argue. They hadn’t tried to kill him yet, so he might as well take his chances with them.