“Do you?” Nick looked at her again. “Do you understand me?”
“I think I do.” Alex observed his tormented and hopeless face pensively. She reached out and stroked his unshaven cheek, which was moist with tears. A bond of trust had formed between them.
“If you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you, Nick,” Alex said in a throaty voice. “And you don’t have to worry that I’ll tell anyone.”
“Thank you.” He managed to smile slightly and rose to his feet with some effort. “I’m so grateful to you.”
They sat next to each other for a while before Alex realized that she was still holding Nick’s hand. She let go of it with a sense of embarrassment.
“I… I have to go now. Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he replied, and it seemed to Alex as if a tiny glimpse of his old energy had returned. “I’m much better now.”
Before she could leave, he grabbed her hand again. “Why did you really come here, Alex?”
She looked at him, and then she stood up.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she replied.
Lost in her thoughts, she walked along the cemetery’s winding paths. The sun had penetrated the dense clouds in some areas; its warm rays had melted the fog away. The Mass was over, and churchgoers visited their relatives’ graves. Alex was still dazed by the unexpected trust that Nick Kostidis had placed in her, and she felt a deep affection for him. He wasn’t hard and ruthless. He was completely different than she ever imagined.
As Alex turned a corner, she almost collided with a man. She murmured an apology, but an ice-cold shock struck her when she saw this man’s face. Never again would she forget those cold, yellowish eyes. It was the man she had seen at Sergio’s birthday party—the man who killed David Zuckerman. And there could only be one reason why he was here at this cemetery: he’d come to finish a job that failed a few weeks ago. Sergio had sent him here to kill Nick Kostidis.
Alex didn’t consider the fact that she was also in danger, that the man possibly recognized her and might tell Sergio she was here. She worried only for Nick as he sat unsuspectingly at his family’s grave. Luckily, the man with the yellow eyes didn’t know exactly where Nick was. He walked slowly around the cemetery’s paths with a searching look, but trying not to attract any attention.
Alex broke into a run with a pounding heart and reached the bench where she had sat next to Nick just moments earlier. But the bench was empty. Panic raced through her, and she started to run again. Finally she saw him. He was walking toward the church with his head down and his hands buried deep in his coat pockets.
Apparently the man with the yellow eyes had spotted him that very same moment. Protected by a massive yew tree, he raised his rifle and took aim. Alex stumbled across the graves. She didn’t care that people were looking at her angrily.
“Nick!” Her voice cracked. “Watch out!”
Nick Kostidis turned around in surprise, but she had already reached him and thrown her body against his. They both lost their balance and fell to the ground. The bullet that was meant for Nick hit the gravestone right behind them, smashing the stone slab and breaking it into two pieces.
“What… what… what was that?” he asked in confusion. Alex carefully turned her head to look for the shooter. He was gone. Then the floodgates burst, and she started to cry. A few passersby came closer and stared curiously at them.
“Somebody shot at me, right?” Nick whispered.
“Yes.” Alex got up, sobbing, wiping her tears. Nick also stood up. He was very pale, yet surprisingly calm.
“You saved my life,” he said and grabbed her hand. Alex flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.
“I recognized this man by chance when he walked past me,” she said, her voice wavering hysterically. “I’ve seen him at Vitali’s house. I was at his birthday party and got lost in the house when suddenly this man was standing right in front of me.”
Her knees turned to rubber, and she needed to sit down. Nick knelt next to her, looking at her in concern.
“I followed him. The door to the library was slightly ajar, and then I heard… I… I heard this man say to Sergio: It is done. Zuckerman won’t utter another word. Do you understand, Nick? This man shot David Zuckerman, and now he tried to kill you!”
“Are you sure it was the same man?” Nick observed her closely.
“Yes, yes, definitely.” She nodded vehemently. “I’ll never forget his face. He’s one of Vitali’s henchmen. Oh my God, this is terrible!”
She couldn’t stop the tears flowing down her face, and this time it was Nick’s turn to console her.
“Come on, Alex.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her up gently. “Let’s get out of here.”
“And what if he tries again?”
“He won’t.” Nick was surprised by his own coldness. Alex’s panic sobered him, and suddenly he was able to think more clearly than he had in months. Just this morning, he would have preferred to die so that he wouldn’t have to endure this pain and his terrible feelings of guilt. He thought he would never feel anything again, but he was mistaken. He’d clearly felt fear just now, and he was worried about Alex—who had just saved his life by risking her own. They entered the church though a hidden side door, but even the thick walls couldn’t make Alex feel safe. She looked back repeatedly and almost expected to see the man with the rifle reappear. Nick held her hand while she walked beside him as if in trance. They left the church and turned into a cloister that had a green courtyard at its center. Nick knew his way around surprisingly well in this maze of corridors and hallways.
Ten minutes later, they were on the third floor of this fortresslike monastery. He stopped in front of one of the doors and knocked.
“Come in!” someone called, and Nick opened the door. The whitewashed room had dark oak beams on the high ceilings and was modestly furnished. Beside the massive, dark wooden desk were floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and the only wall decorations were a wooden cross and a framed picture of Pope John Paul II. A lean, white-haired Jesuit priest sitting at the desk looked up in surprise.
“Nick!” the priest exclaimed, and a warm smile spread across his face. “How nice to see you!”
“Hello, Father,” Nick replied.
“How are you?” The priest took Nick’s hands in his and looked at him with total sympathy. Alex figured he was older than he looked, for she had never before seen such wisdom as in his kind eyes.
“I’m doing better,” Nick replied. “Thank you.”
“Inscrutable are the ways of God.”
“Yes. It’s difficult, but I think I’ll make it.”
“You are always in our prayers.”
“I know. Thank you.”
Only then did he seem to remember that he wasn’t alone.
“Father, allow me to introduce Ms. Alex Sontheim. She’s a friend of… Mary’s and mine. Alex, this is Father Kevin O’Shaughnessy.”
“Hello.” Father Kevin extended his hand toward Alex, and his firm handshake surprised her.
“Father Kevin is an old friend of mine,” Nick explained. “I was an altar boy in his church.”
“Sit down, please,” the Jesuit offered. Alex, whose knees were still soft as butter, smiled gratefully. She sat down on one of the simple wooden chairs, which was as uncomfortable as it looked.
“Someone just tried to shoot me here in the cemetery,” Nick said, and Father Kevin turned pale.
“Shoot you? In our cemetery?” He made the sign of the cross.
Nick told him briefly what had happened and then grabbed the telephone. Alex, whose body was still shaking, noticed that his voice sounded almost as firm and energetic as when she knew him before. He called his assistant—this Frank Cohen who’d brushed her off so determinedly yesterday—and repeated the whole story. Then Nick turned to Alex.