Jason leaves the house with a black bag and puts it in the trash. It looks comfortable with jeans and a t-shirt. When we last met, he was wearing his uniform with hundreds of medals hanging from it.
I get out of the car, stuff my hands in my pants pockets and walk over to her. As soon as he sees me, Jason's expression becomes troubled, just like Father Bee. I'm starting to think my old acquaintances don't like me.
“Il diavolo is back,” he whispers.
He diavol? Is that what I've been nicknamed since I left?
“It took time for my presence to be noticed in the country,” I say.
I've spent some time under the radar, but I don't discount the idea that they contacted me. Although, of course, Jason never wanted me to show up at his house.
- I'd rather believe you're dead - he
