Chapter 28

The small church was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of candlelight and the soft shuffle of feet moving across the stone floor. The walls, adorned with simple religious icons, seemed to offer a comforting embrace to those within. It was a sanctuary, humble yet full of warmth, a place where the weary could rest and the lost could find solace. In the far corner, Marco, the youngest of the Rodriguez children, played quietly by the altar, his innocent laughter a gentle reminder of the peace that this place provided, however temporary.

In the main room, Father Patrick McCallister sat at a small wooden table, his eyes scanning the simple surroundings with a thoughtful expression. He ran a hand through his unruly hair, the light flickering on his face as he glanced at the business card lying on the table between him and his two fellow monks. Harold, tall and broad, leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, his strong presence filling the space. James, on the other hand, sat with a furrowed brow, his hands resting on the table as if he was still trying to puzzle out the situation. Father Patrick sighed, his dry voice cutting through the quiet. “Well, boys, it looks like we’re at a crossroads.”

Harold nodded, his deep voice steady. “Grayson’s offer is probably the best shot they’ve got. The cartel won’t stop coming, and they’ve already been pushed too far into the spotlight. Hiding here won’t work forever.” He glanced at Father Patrick, his face softening for a moment. “We can keep them safe for now, but we’re not equipped to deal with what’s coming.”

James leaned forward, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why can’t we just hide them better? Or—I dunno—maybe we talk to the cops and get them to back off?” He looked between Father Patrick and Harold, clearly hoping his simple solutions might work. “I mean, we’re smart guys, right?”

Father Patrick couldn’t help but chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “James, you’ve got a good heart, but this isn’t about being smart. It’s about being realistic.”

Father Patrick leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as he spoke. “The LAPD already tried to make their move, and look where it got them—bogus charges, warrants, and a family torn apart. Grayson’s the only one with enough pull to get them out of this mess, but that means leaving everything behind.” He glanced over at the Rodriguez family, huddled near the corner, where Grace sat with her younger children. Her eyes were tired, the weight of the decision clear on her face as she tried to comfort Marco, who clung to her side.

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“We can’t fix this by staying here,” Father Patrick continued softly. “No amount of hiding will stop what’s coming. This isn’t a fairy tale where we can just wave a wand and make it all go away.”

Grace looked up from where she sat, her gaze meeting Father Patrick’s. The warmth and safety of the church had provided a temporary reprieve, but the reality of their situation was pressing in. She hugged Marco closer, brushing a hand through his hair as his small body rested against her side. “I don’t want to run,” she admitted, her voice low but steady. “But I can’t stay and put my children in danger. My husband is still out there, and Jose... I don’t know what will happen to him if we leave.” Her voice cracked, the weight of the decision pulling at her.

Father Patrick nodded slowly, understanding the pain behind her words. “I wish I could give you better answers,” he said gently. “But you have to think about the ones you can still protect. Grayson’s offer... it’s not perfect, but it might be the best way to keep you and your younger children safe.”

Grace’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away, refusing to break in front of her children. She looked down at Marco, who was now quietly playing with the edge of her sweater, completely unaware of the storm surrounding them. She gently lifted his hand, pressing it against her heart. “What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t try to keep them safe?” she whispered, more to herself than anyone in the room.

Harold stepped forward, his massive frame moving with surprising softness. “You’re a good mother, Grace,” he said, his voice deep but gentle. “You’ve done everything you can. But sometimes the bravest thing to do is let someone else take the reins when it’s too dangerous to keep going on your own.”

Grace nodded, her resolve beginning to harden. She glanced over at the table, where Grayson’s card still lay. It was time to make the call, no matter how much it hurt.

Grace slowly stood, her movements careful as if the weight of her decision was pressing down on her. She walked over to the table, her eyes fixed on Grayson’s card. James watched her, his usual cheerful expression fading as he sensed the gravity of the moment. “You’re really gonna call him, huh?” he asked, almost innocently.

Grace picked up the card, turning it over in her hands. “I don’t have a choice, James,” she said softly. “We need to go. For their sake.” She glanced back at Marco and the younger children, who were now resting peacefully, oblivious to the decisions being made.

Father Patrick stood as well, offering her a reassuring smile. “You’re doing the right thing, Grace. It’s never easy, but it’s the right thing.”

Grace took a deep breath and, with trembling fingers, dialed the number on the card. The phone rang once, twice, before a voice on the other end answered. “Mr. Grayson?” she said, her voice steady now. “It’s time.”