The Devil's Deadliest Saintess

St. Patrick Catholic Church

St. Patrick Catholic Church was located on the outskirts of Palermo, Sicily. It was one of the oldest churches in the city, well known for its large orphanage and convent where Reverend Sisters and Fathers dedicated their lives to serving God.

Today was the morning service, and the church was filled with worshippers. After the sermon ended, it was time for the choir to sing. A beautiful young nun stepped forward with a gentle smile on her face. Her name was Mary. She had lived in the orphanage since she was five years old and was now twenty-two. Kind, humble, and devoted, she was loved by everyone in the church.

She clasped her hands together and began to sing.

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound..."

A deafening burst of gunfire suddenly echoed from outside.

The hymn died on her lips.

Everyone froze as terrified eyes turned toward the entrance, wondering what was happening.

The doors burst open and an elderly priest stumbled inside, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He barely managed to lift his trembling hand.

"They... they're here... the Valenti..."

Before he could finish speaking, a bullet tore through his forehead. His body crashed onto the floor. The young nuns screamed.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the church as a tall man walked in, surrounded by armed men. His expression was cold, and his overwhelming presence alone was enough to make the air feel heavy.

Without hesitation, several priests suddenly pulled guns from beneath their robes and opened fire.

Mary's eyes widened in disbelief. Her heart pounded violently against her chest.

Guns? How could the priests have guns?

How could men who preached the word of God fire weapons without the slightest hesitation?

A hand suddenly grabbed her arm and yanked her to the floor just as a bullet smashed into the wall behind her.

"Do you want to die? Get under the pew!" a woman shouted. Mary stared at her in shock. The woman was gripping a pistol.

Before Mary's eyes, the gentle Reverend Sister she had known for years raised the weapon and shot one of the attackers without even blinking.

"Mother Martha..." Mary whispered in disbelief.

"Get down!" The warning came too late. A gunshot rang out.

Mother Martha's body jerked violently before she collapsed onto the floor, blood spreading beneath her head.

Mary covered her mouth to stop herself from crying out as tears blurred her vision. Trembling from head to toe, she crawled beneath one of the pews, her entire body shaking while the sounds of endless gunfire echoed through the church.

………

The gunfire continued relentlessly, filling the church with screams and the smell of burning gunpowder. Bullets tore through the wooden pews as terrified nuns and priests remained hidden, praying for the nightmare to end.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun. An eerie silence settled over the church.

One by one, the frightened nuns and priests slowly raised their heads from beneath the pews. Some were crying while others trembled violently as they looked around.

Bodies were scattered across the once peaceful church, staining the white marble floor with blood.

Their eyes finally landed on the altar.

The Pope was on his knees with his face pressed against the floor while the man who had led the attack stood over him, one polished leather shoe resting firmly on his head.

"Don Lorenzo, I am very sorry. I didn't know my men would do something like that to you," the Pope pleaded, his voice trembling.

"Don't even try to lie to me, bastard." Don Lorenzo's voice was frighteningly calm.

He lifted his foot and kicked the Pope hard in the chest, sending him crashing across the marble floor.

The Pope groaned in pain before struggling back onto his knees.

"Three months ago, my men were transporting a shipment when your people attacked them, killed every one of them, and stole my goods. I let it go because I still respected this place." His cold eyes narrowed.

"Then a month ago, you did the same thing again. I warned you... yet you were foolish enough to repeat it a third time."

"I... I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I'll do anything. Just don't kill me," the Pope begged.

"I don't want your apology." Don Lorenzo crouched before him, his gaze as cold as ice.

"I want my money." He grabbed the Pope by the collar and pulled him closer.

"You stole three cargo shipments worth two hundred and fifty billion euros each. That makes seven hundred and fifty billion euros." His grip tightened.

"Pay me." Fear drained every bit of color from the Pope's face.

"I... I don't have that kind of money. Please... give me a little more time."

"Bullshit." Don Lorenzo shoved him away before kicking him again.

"I've been patient long enough." He slowly turned toward the terrified nuns and priests huddled together. A cruel smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"I have a better idea." His gaze swept across them.

"I'll sell every one of them at an auction. Their lives should be enough to repay your debt." The Pope's eyes widened in horror.

"You can't! If you do that, everything will be exposed. Please... you can't." The pope begged.

"Do I look like I care?" Don Lorenzo straightened his suit without sparing him another glance.

"Take them." His men immediately began walking toward the terrified group. The pope look so worried, he knows he have to do something quickly or everything he has build will be gone just like that.

"Wait!" The Pope suddenly shouted.

"I have something far more valuable than all of them combined." Don Lorenzo didn't even bother turning around.

"I have someone you'll definitely want." Still, Don Lorenzo remained silent. The Pope swallowed hard before saying the name.

"Luciana De Santos... the daughter of Alessandro De Santos." Don Lorenzo froze. His expression changed. Slowly, he turned around.

"Are you trying to lie to me?"

"No." The Pope shook his head immediately. "She was brought here seventeen years ago."

"Where is she?" The Pope slowly raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the frightened young nun hiding behind the others.

"She's right there." Don Lorenzo's eyes fell on Mary. He walked toward her one slow step at a time while Mary instinctively shrank back, her body trembling.

He stopped in front of her. The moment he saw her face, his heart skipped a beat. She looked almost exactly like Alessandro.

Even so, he refused to believe it without proof. Gently but firmly, he lifted her chin before moving aside the collar of her habit.

There, just beneath her neck, a tiny butterfly-shaped birthmark. His breathing caught.

Alessandro had carried the same birthmark in the exact same place, and countless times he had proudly told him that his daughter had inherited it.

A smile slowly spread across Don Lorenzo's face.

He had finally found her.