Here’s another installment in my unnamed paranormal romance:
As the Praesul, Ippolito sat at the head of the table to lead the meeting and Calandra noted that even Ippolito seemed tense. Legates Bezzotti and Gessati sat at the other end of the table. They were not twins, but their matching hair-ringed pates, small grey eyes, and thin lips made them look as if they had the same parentage. Their personalities, though, were as opposite as day and night. Bezzotti was high-strung, wound tighter than a tourniquet. Anyone who dared to cross him would get written up; and they’d all been written up at some point or another. Gessati was the essence of cool, calm, and collected. Calandra had only seen him angry once, when Ippolito had left a Novitiate alone on a dark street while he dashed off toward the action. The Novitiate had survived, barely, but had quit the order. Which meant he had to be killed. And Gessati had made Ippolito do it.