Vito motioned to his two men, who stepped forward with practiced efficiency. One approached Micah, the other moved towards Elder Ruth. The congregation watched in petrified silence, paralyzed by the sudden, violent shift in reality.
“Frankie Lombardo is a patient man,” Vito said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “But patience runs out when promises aren’t kept, and collateral is tied up.”
He pointed at Ruth. “You pledged these lands, your own property, and your protégé’s future income to cover your gambles. Not just his, I might add. My ledger shows a few side bets of your own, Elder.”
Ruth flinched, a small, involuntary movement. The revelation of her own gambling, however minor compared to Micah’s, was another chip in the facade.
“We don’t need the money right now,” Vito continued. “We need the assets. And the demonstration of what happens when you cross Frankie.”
The man beside Micah grabbed his arm. Micah cried out, struggling, but the enforcer was significantly larger and stronger.
“This one,” Vito declared, gesturing to Micah, “goes with us. He can work off the debt. There’s plenty of labor in the syndicate that doesn’t involve dice tables.”
Micah gasped, a terrified sound. “No! Please! I’ll pay! Abigail has the money!”
Vito merely glanced at me. “Abigail Winterbourne’s trust is clean. Your legal paperwork is impeccable, Sister,” he said, acknowledging my presence directly for the first time. “We checked. Her assets aren’t part of this arrangement. Smart woman.”
Then he turned back to Ruth. “As for you, Elder Ruth. Your private holdings, Parcel 3, are now syndicate property. And the fractional deed to this… ‘sanctuary ground’… will be sold to the highest bidder. Consider it a lesson in risk management.”
He nodded to his other enforcer, who had positioned himself beside Ruth. Ruth tried to pull away, but the man’s grip was firm on her arm.
“You cannot do this!” she shrieked, her voice high and desperate, devoid of all spiritual authority. “I am an Elder! This is sacrilege!”
“Sacrilege is a church problem,” Vito replied, unmoved. “Debt is a syndicate problem. And we’re here to solve it.”
He looked at the shocked faces of the congregation. “Let this be a warning. Do not do business with Frankie Lombardo if you don’t intend to pay. We don’t need secular courts. We collect our own way.”
With that, his men began to forcibly escort Ruth and Micah from the sanctuary. Micah continued to struggle, whimpering and pleading, but it was useless. Ruth, in a last surge of defiance, tried to slap the enforcer, but he simply tightened his grip.
“You will regret this!” she screamed at me, her face contorted with pure hatred, as they dragged her towards the shattered doors. “You will be alone! Utterly alone!”
The last thing I saw before the doors swung shut, closing off the outside world once more, was Ruth’s enraged, desperate face, and Micah’s slumped, defeated form. The heavy oak doors finally settled back into their frames, the shattered wood a stark reminder of the intrusion.
A profound silence descended upon the sanctuary. The congregation, still seated, remained frozen. No one moved. No one spoke. The Elders on the platform looked utterly bewildered, stripped of their leader, their authority, their very understanding of their world.
The underworld had arrived, collected its due, and vanished, leaving behind a silence heavier than any prayer. My inheritance was safe, but the Covenant would never be the same.
+ There are no comments
Add yours