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L’Dante didn’t move as we entered the chapel. He stood, admiring the two-story pipe organ on the back wall. The pipes were melting.
We stopped a few feet behind him.
“L’Dante,” I said. “It’s over.”
The flames burned brighter.
I disengaged the safety on my Glock and aimed it at his head.
And then I heard his sobbing.
I lowered the gun.
My ex-fiancé was sobbing. The love of my life, sobbing in a thousand evil voices.
He dropped to his knees. His shoulders bounced up and down.
And then he stopped.
“Why did you kill Rhonda?” I asked.
“That was cold, man,” Darius said.
“She was in the way,” L’Dante said.
“Her house wasn’t on the way to the Calverton Street Church,” Darius said. “I said it to your ass back then and I’ll say it now: you’re full of s**t. You weren’t never any good
