I slowly walk up behind him and notice he’s speaking lowly in Spanish. I’m not sure what he’s saying because his words are coming out in a mere whisper, though as I grow closer to him, I can tell he’s worried. He tenses up and straightens his back up a bit, beginning to turn. The moment he fully faces me, I collide my closed fist with his nose. A loud pop rings out between us, and he jolts backward as he tries to process what just happened.
Blood spills from his nose onto his hands, and he’s damn well confused that I’m here. “Ambros Galanis… someone paid a pretty penny for you.” Julio coughs.
“No one paid a dime. I’m here on a personal matter, Julio,” I state, taking a seat in the first pew. The fact I’m sitting down only makes him more nervous. He doesn’t appreciate how comfortable I am doing what I do.
