The second cop grunts, but he turns his attention to me. His face becomes harder, but there’s no accusation there.
I have no idea how tonight went so wrong. Where the cops came from, or why it went down the way it did. I have no idea why my hands aren’t tied to the bed—because they’re not. It feels like my fingers are broken for some stupid reason, but they’re not tied down.
I expected to end the night in a jail cell.
I didn’t tell Andrea that.
I knew she’d have protested, but there was only one way to end Corelli’s reign, and that was for me to be sent down.
To finally repent in a house loaded with others of my kind—sinners to the core.
Either that or for one of Corelli’s guards to have put a bullet between my eyes as payment for killing their boss—I doubted that though, because they were all Catholic. Shitty Catholics, but supposedly religious men, and killing a priest? Yeah, that was a one-way ticket to hell.
But instead of death or a jail cell, I wake up here.
With Andrea at my side and the police standing over me, looking at me with curiosity but no accusation.
Nothing about this is going down how it was supposed to, and I wonder if that isn’t going to be the story of my life from now on. Now that she’s here, changing everything.
My guide.
My angel.
I blink, a little dazed, when the officer says, “Father? Can you answer some questions?”
“He’s only just woken up, officer,” Andrea protests.
“We need answers, ma’am,” the second cop replies regretfully.
“I already told you what happened,” she complains. “I saw it all! The other guy was getting in the priest’s face. It all happened so fast too. Suddenly, there was a knife, and he plunged it into the Father’s stomach. I don’t even know how the Father did it, but he grabbed the handle, pulled it out, then swiped. Then there was just...” She releases a shaky breath, and because I know her a little more than the police, I can tell it isn’t fake. The blood, the sheer quantity of it, surprised her. “There was so much blood. It was everywhere.”
I shoot the officers a stunned look. “Did you hear about Gianni’s death?”
The first officer steps forward. “I’m Esposito, Father. And Gianni? You mean the hobo?”
“Yeah. I found him today. I took Corelli’s confession, that’s why I went to see him. I tried to contain my distress, but I had to confront him. I went to him with peace in mind,” I lie. “I wanted him to go to the police. But he wouldn’t. When we went outside, he started to get aggressive. The young lady has it right. It played out like something from a film.” I shake my head like I’m astonished.
“Bianchi, Father. You say Corelli confessed to Gianni’s murder?”
“The seal of confession should never be broken, but what I’ve witnessed today?” The shudder that racks through my body isn’t feigned. “I want no more of this world.”
Bianchi’s brow furrows. “Did he say why he killed the tramp?”
“He has a name,” Andrea rumbles, and I’m glad she does because it pisses me off too, when they use Gianni’s label rather than what his parents gifted him at birth.
“Apologies, ma’am.” Bianchi shoots her a wary smile. “I think it’s time for you to step outside if you don’t mind?”
She shrugs. “I guess...” Her eyes cut to me. “Father, I wish you well, if there’s anything I can do to hel—”
“No, child. Thank you, but you did more than enough for me today. It’s only when you screamed that Corelli became distracted. You saved me from further attack.”
Bianchi opens the door and wafts Andrea out. She grabs the coat she dumped over the back of an uncomfortable looking armchair, and murmurs, “Officers, you have my contact details if you need any more from me.” Her eyes cut to mine, and there’s fear in them.
I know she’s concerned.
I can’t do anything though, not with the cops watching me, so I whisper, “Go with God, child.”
Her eyes widen, but she slinks off, her lip between her teeth, nibbling all the while.
The officer closes the door, cutting off our last glimpse of one another, then rasps, “We should really have made her leave earlier. She’s pretty stubborn. Refused to leave your side even in the ambulance.”
“I recognize her,” I mumble the falsehood. “Why do I?”
“She’s a famous writer.” Bianchi’s grin is rueful. “She’s not as crazy as the TV made out. They were saying she was ill or something.”
“Does that affect the providence of her statement?”
Esposito shrugs. “No. She seems lucid to me, and it’s all cut and dry. Corelli wasn’t the kind of man you confront, Father,” he says, his tone sharper now. “You should have come to us from the start.”
“The seal of confession cannot be broken. I could only urge him to go to the police. He wouldn’t go.” Fatigue hits me. “I’m tired, my sons. Is there anything more you need from me?”
Esposito pulls a face. “Father, did you know about the mule operation Corelli was running?”
“Yes. I knew a little about it. Mostly that, on the days he paid them, the homeless didn’t go to sleep with hungry bellies.”
“Do you know who those people are? Do you have any names?”
“The second the cops were around Gianni’s body, you and I both know they scattered in the wind. I have names, but they don’t deserve to be in trouble. Especially not if it leads them to Gianni’s finale.”
“The police were at Remo’s this evening because we gained enough ground in a case against Corelli. We basically Caponed him, but it wouldn’t have gotten him off the streets forever.” He grimaces. “No one will say it, but you did the city a favor.”
His candor has me blinking. “Someone else will take his place.”
“Someone’s always there to plug in the gap, but we can hope they’re not as good as Corelli was at hiding their tracks.”
“I’ll pray for it,” I rasp, and I mean it. Just because the priesthood is no longer my calling, doesn’t mean I’ve lost my way completely. And if my prayers mean anything, I’d prefer for God to hear that more than anything else.
Esposito eyes the bandages on my stomach. “Have you spoken with a doctor yet?”
I shake my head. “No. I only just woke up.”
Bianchi grimaces. “I should get them in.”
Esposito nods and Bianchi leaves, but after the door closes, he murmurs, “God was certainly on your side, Father.”
My mouth works for a second. “What do you mean?”
“Clean cut, straight through the gut.” He taps a place on his right side. “Didn’t hit a single organ, but you bled like a pig for a while. Someone was definitely watching over you—”
The door opens and a doctor strides in, a scowl on her face. “Have you been questioning my patient before I’ve even had a chance to check him over?”
Esposito raises his hands. “We’re going.”
She glares. “Good.”
“We’ll be in touch, Father.”