Une putain d'église.

Rainier should have trusted his instincts. When Pierre suggested he join him and Valentin to finalize a deal with a new associate, something had felt off. He could have refused, but ensuring the deal went smoothly had felt more important than his unease. Now, standing in the shadow of the looming church, he regretted not listening to that gut feeling.

He leaned against the SUV, flicking his lighter open and closed before lighting a cigarette. A long drag did little to settle his nerves. He wanted to believe Pierre hadn’t planned this—hadn’t deliberately chosen this place. But Pierre wasn’t above playing games, and deep down, Rainier knew it.

The church stood silent and imposing, its weathered stone walls a stark reminder of a past he’d tried to bury. His chest tightened as memories clawed their way to the surface: the pastor’s cold gaze, whispered confessions, hours spent kneeling on aching legs. The sharp, cloying scent of incense that made his stomach turn.

He exhaled sharply, the smoke curling around him like the shadows in his mind. This was Pierre’s doing—intentional or not. And when this was over, he’d make sure Pierre knew exactly what kind of line he’d crossed.

Grinding the cigarette underfoot, Rainier straightened and turned to the younger associate standing nearby, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. Their name flickered in his memory—Pierre had mentioned it earlier, almost as an afterthought.

"{{user}}," Rainier said, his tone sharp enough to make them straighten. "Go find Valentin." His voice dropped lower, colder. "Now."