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The one good thing about my time with the Romanos is that it built me a name. It's one that's still whispered on the streets when I walk by, though no one dares to stop me. At least they hadn't until today.
I was sitting in a near-empty restaurant in the Heights area when a person sat down across from me. A middle-aged man with bright red hair and freckles all over stared me down as if waiting for me to solve all his life problems. At first glance, I hadn't recognized him.
"Can I help you?" I grumbled.
He shook his head, then stopped and started to nod. "I'm hoping so. You're Preacher, right? I've heard a few people mention you like to come eat here. I was hoping to finally catch you."
Alarm bells rang in my head. The gun I always wore called to me, begging I make this easy before my own blood had to be shed.
My face must have given away my emotions because the man quickly stuck both hands up. "No! No, nothing like that. I meant that I was glad to have found you to talk to. I do need your help. I've heard you're good at finding things."
He paused as if to wait for my answer. I waited him out. Patience would win more than talking could. People hated silence. Their minds were always too much to handle on their own, and a lack of noise could drive them insane. In fact, many people have done just that when presented with long bouts of solitary confinement.
"I am," I replied to the no name man across from me.
"Ok. Great. Good. Um, I need to find something. Or rather, someone. Do you think you could help? I'll pay you. I have money. Lots." The man damn near pressed himself onto the table as he leaned closer to whisper the last part.
I wondered just who had sent him to me. Could it be someone from the organization trying to test me? Or maybe it was just people in this city who knew enough about me to know that I was good at finding things that tried to stay hidden.
Well, almost anything. Dante was an ongoing project. I'd find him at some point.
But people knew my reputation enough to know there was no hiding from the Preacher. I was begged for forgiveness more times than I could count after locating one of Romano's targets when they'd tried to hide themselves away.
I looked the man across from me over. He didn't appear to be involved in anything illegal. No tattoos or markings that were obvious enough to affiliate him with someone who was against Romano. The last thing I needed was to get in between a mafia war. And since I didn't have inside knowledge of all things Romano anymore, I very well could wind up in trouble for meddling.
And yet, I didn't give a fuck. My soul felt darker than it ever had before. Losing Dante took away all my desire to be good and decent. All I wanted was him by any means necessary.
"Your name?" I demanded once my internal pro/con list was complete.
"Craig. Craig Vegas. I'm looking for my daughter. She was taken a few weeks ago, and I can't find her. The police won't help. I don't know what to do."
I took a deep breath, then I asked him for all the information he had on his daughter. I vowed to do everything I could to find her. Each word was honest. I would do my damndest to find her. And along the way, I'd keep my eyes peeled for anything Dante related. Who said I had to limit myself to one project?
That day a lot of things changed for me. It was another shift in the plan I'd seen for my life.
Not only was I no longer a Romano, but I was also a freelancer.
Not only was Dante gone, but there were others missing.
Not only did I feel called to do something to help, but I also saw a future that wasn't quite so bleak.
And that's how I became Preacher, the private investigator, instead of Preacher, the punisher for the mafia.
CHAPTER FIVE
DANTE
Present Day
Thump.Thump. Thump.
The sound of my fist hitting the bag was a welcome noise. It quieted the thoughts in my mind, taking away the dark and bringing a numb detachment.
I loved the feeling. From the way the tape wrapped over my knuckles, the vibration a blow would send through my body. It was pain. It was purpose. It gave me stability in a world where I wasn't able to make decisions on my own.
But that was the life I'd chosen. The one in which I gave up my freedom to protect him.
Looking back, I'm sure there could have been other ways to handle it. I could have pleaded my case differently or been more careful to protect the secrets I'd been hiding. In the end, none of it mattered much.
