We left the office, and I hurried down the hallway, eager to escape before either Benedict or Lucciano could change their mind. I glanced back before turning a bend in the hall and saw him standing in the doorway, a spot of darkness watching me go.
Strange as he was, demonic as his aura may have been, there was no denying one simple truth...
He hadn’t given me the medication, but he’d made it seem like he had.
Maybe I’d been wasting my time asking God to save me this whole time here, locked in Hallow Hall, forgotten by the world.
I should have asked the devil instead.
6
MASSIMO
“And when can we expect Father Vargas?” I asked Pavol.
We were eating dinner in the private dining room exclusively reserved for the three men who ruled over the institute in their holy robes, the ones Katarina called the unholy trinity. An opulent, dark-paneled room with velvet chairs and polished silver.
The Church wasn’t paying for this place; I’d stake my reputation on it. In fact, I was a little unclear on how much the real Church knew about Hallow Hall. It was an interesting discovery.
“He has to show the director around. Benedict likes to make sure that the grounds are up to scratch and that our more colorful patients are safe and sound and in solitary.” Pavol belched discreetly. I’d been topping his glass up continually, and it seemed like it was finally having an effect.
“Despite its appearance, Hallow Hall turns quite the tidy profit. It benefits all parties—the shareholders make money, and Vargas, Benedict, and I get to continue our work, as you know...”
“And the patients?” I mocked gently, but he was too far gone to notice.
“They are saved, or at least become useful for something, instead of being out there in the world sinning.” He hiccupped and stood, off to search for water.
Father Benedict hadn’t made it for dinner. The laxative I’d slipped into his coffee this afternoon had continued to take its toll on his colon. What a pity.
I sipped my red wine, noting it was an exquisite vintage. Yes, the unholy trinity of Hallow Hall wasn’t exactly on a strict budget.
I let my mind wander over the day. Killing time here until Vargas showed up was irritating, but I’d already ascertained that getting to him anywhere else would be near impossible.
I was impatient to be gone, though, given the information I’d uncovered only a few weeks ago. When I’d gotten out of the Col Moschin, the Italian Special Forces, I’d started to poke into my mother’s past. I had found out where she’d worked, but figuring out who had been in management at the time had been a challenge. I’d hit a dead end with the search until an old friend found a lead. Fabi Carrozza... the now-dead millionaire who had knocked my mother up and sent her away. But he’d fucking died without giving me the name of the place he’d sent her. I needed to start working my way through his list of coworkers and acquaintances to see if anyone remembered more than him. Maybe he’d had an assistant who had handled the admission paperwork or something. I’d taken one step forward and two steps back and burned with the need to continue my search, but I was here, working. Haunting the halls of this cursed place, waiting for my fucking target to appear.
Haunting the halls and watching her.
Katarina Dmitrova.
Just the thought of her sent a flurry of heat and curiosity charging through me. Earlier, I’d nearly gotten carried away in Benedict’s office. She was afraid of me but fearless at the same time. Perfectly sane and sweetly crazy all at once. Blessed by angels and talking to devils. I couldn’t understand her, but it was clear that she was being mistreated here at Hallow Hall. Yet, if you read her file, she was the one who had drawn blood, the one who was violent and unpredictable.
Interesting. I hadn’t met anyone interesting in a long, long time.
More than anything, she reminded me of my mother. A woman the world had turned their backs on. Was there anyone looking for Katarina? Would anyone miss her when she was gone?
I mused over those questions as Pavol made his way back to the table and sat heavily. I raised an eyebrow at him, taking in how much time had passed.
He was flushed.
“Apologies for keeping you. A patient was having some problems sleeping. She needed... tucking in.” He chuckled, his beady eyes darting about. His whole face was as pink as the ham we’d just eaten.
A dark feeling spread through me.
“Which patient?” I curled my fingers around the knife beside my plate. I could already imagine driving it through his fleshy neck. The white tablecloth would be so pretty sprayed with his arterial blood.
“No one you know,” he assured me. “You’ve only met Katarina so far, haven’t you? She’s a special case. Not to be touched. The director’s pet.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering what the hell that meant.