13 THE FIRST HORSEMAN
“He’s dead, Raphe,” Sylvia said into the burner cell phone. “You better send some of your goons over pronto.”
“You put a mirror beneath his nose? Check his pulse?” Father Raphe asked.
“I did check!” she spat, and a split-second later winced at the sharpness of her sudden outburst—almost like a gunshot.
The piled-up stress from everything—the lifestyle, the affair, and now the murder—had reached a breaking point inside her. She seriously didn’t need to be taken to task right now with questions insinuating she was too dense to know a dead body staring back at her. No, what she desired was a sense of trust to come from the man she'd been screwing the past year. For crying out loud, she’d knocked off her husband to demonstrate her new loyalty to Father Raphe.
“Sylvia
