Page 78 of Unholy Saint

I ignored that.

“If they’re weakening, we should move before they regroup.”

“And hit what?” Zeno asked. “Their money? Their transport? Their soldiers?” He leaned forward, his voice lowering. “Which head do you cut off when you still don’t know which part of the body is the head?”

I looked away. He was right. Again.

Zeno leaned back in his chair. “As long as the Coccico don’t cross into our territory or interfere with family business, I do nothing publicly. I collect intelligence. I confirm what we know. I identify the men above them—the ones who decided trafficking women was a good life choice.”

“And if they cross into our territory?”

Zeno’s expression changed. The calm disappeared.

“If they come within a hair of my family’s business,” he said quietly, “I will annihilate them.”

He let the words settle between us.

Then, as though he hadn’t just threatened to wipe an entire organization from existence, he took another sip of his coffee and changed the direction of the conversation.

“What do you intend to do about your family?”

“My family isn’t part of this.”

Zeno was quiet for a moment.

“They may already be part of this.”

“They know nothing about it,” I reiterated.

“Exactly.”

He rose then, and faced me across the low table.

“I don’t care what penance you built for yourself. I don’t care how many years you spent wearing a collar. I don’t care if you convinced a village, a bishop, and yourself that Father Demitri Marco was all that remained of you.” His voice hardened. “There are men in this world who won’t care, either. If they connect you to the Cavalho name, they won’t stop to ask whether your siblings were involved. They’ll go to their doorstep. They’ll drag them into this with both fists.” He stepped closer. “And I will not allow that.”

I glared at him. He glared back. Old anger stirred beneath my ribs, hot and familiar.

“My family has survived without me for years. They don’t need me dragging a war back to their homes.”