Eyes wide, I try to appear what I’m not—innocent. “Will there be repercussions?”
“No. It was self-defense, but if you could get those names to us, I’d appreciate it. And if you could spread the word that we’re not interested in what they were carrying for him, but details on their operation? It would be a kindness.”
“Of course, my son. I shall try my best.”
He nods, but his tone darkens. “The Family might be in touch.”
His statement has me shrugging. “If they come knocking, there’s nothing I can do.” I doubted Corelli’s bosses would be interested in me, but he was right to caution me. In my position, I figured I’d be safe—I just didn’t intend on being a priest for long.
The carabinieri purses his lips. “We’re here for you, Father. Not all of us are in someone’s pocket.”
“I never doubted it, my son.” I cut them both a look. “You’ll be in my prayers.”
“Thank you, Father,” they both reply, almost simultaneously.
With that, he and his partner go, leaving me with a doctor who prods me worse than the barb-spiked lash does when I whip myself.
But as she asks questions, takes my vitals, works with a nurse who makes an appearance shortly after the cops depart, I’m left wondering if it was God who’d been watching over me or an angel. One who knows when someone is at the door before they knock, who can guide a knife into my stomach without causing me major damage, and who knows what I’m thinking without my having to utter a word…
My angel.
I think I already have my answer to that one.
Part Three
Ten
Andrea
Five days later
I haven’t seen him in all this time, and it’s pretty much killing me.
I get it.
I do.
There’s no way he can contact me without causing any suspicion to stir and fall on us. So, even though I know, I hate it. I hate the necessity of it.
I went into the church yesterday, hoping to see him, but he hadn’t been there.
Did that mean he quit?
I tried to google how a priest went about defrocking, but to be honest, I came up with a lot of porn with priests.
Apparently, I’m not the only weirdo who gets off on the idea of fucking a man in a dog collar.
Despite my concern and the unease that’s simmering inside me at his lack of contact, my lips twitch at the thought as I settle my coffee cup on the little table I’d set outside on the tiny balcony.
Leaning over the filigree balustrade, I stare down at the street. The smells are stronger than ever, and the desire to write’s nonexistent. It’s time to do one of two things.
Go back home and visit the hospital, or start learning how to be a perfume manufacturer. Hell, this super sniffer has to be good for something, doesn’t it?
My cell number’s different now that I’m in Europe, but my email is the same. Every day, I get pissed off messages from my folks, their anger throbbing through the invisible lines of the Internet. I know that if they knew where I was staying, they’d be on the next flight over to bring me home.
I feel their concern, appreciate it, but what am I supposed to do?
Leave Savio behind?
I can’t.
I peer over the distance, still in awe of the sights I behold. Ahead of me, there’s the Vatican and a part of Rome, the neighborhoods Borgo and Prati, which I probably wouldn’t have visited if it wasn’t for my accommodation being here and having to use the metro. Deeper in the distance is the more well-known part of the city—the Spanish steps, the Colosseum, the Pantheon, and my favorite, the Forum.
Every day, I’ve taken to walking around the place, absorbing it, enjoying the marvels that are these beautiful pieces of history that still play such a massive role in today’s world. They’re timeless, endlessly existing, and I find comfort in that, draw relief from them as I deal with the reality of life—no one lives forever. But these edifices will. They will outlive us, see all our downfalls and our successes, and still, they will be there. Just waiting on a civilization that would pillage them.
There’s nothing like this in the States. It’s beautiful, but it’s just a different kind of beautiful.
Like you can feel the trillions of people who have walked down these same paths as you over the history of time.
That?
Impossible to replicate.
Bells ring all around me from churches in the vicinity, the noise of a siren from a nearby ambulance pierces the chatter of the crowd down below, and for a moment, I’m lost to it all.
Blind, deaf.
Then I realize my buzzer has sounded, and I jerk to attention.
Unromantic though it was, we’d exchanged telephone numbers before we left for Remo’s, and I’d given him the address where I was staying, but I hadn’t tried to call him, nor had he tried to call me.
Appearances matter at a time like this.
But I miss him. I’m scared he won’t return to me, and though I need him with all my heart, he needs me more. I fear for him, fear for what will happen if he doesn’t—
No. I can’t think like that.
So, hoping it’s him, I push the button and mutter, “Buongiorno?”
A flood of Italian sounds, but it isn’t Savio. Heart sinking, I recognize that it’s someone who’s come to clean the place.
She drops the name of the agency, so I let the woman in and hover by the door so I’m there when she knocks.
She shows me the message from the agency so I know to trust her, beams at me when I speak to her in Italian, and I tell her I’ll leave her to it before grabbing my computer and cellphone so I can try to write somewhere in a coffee shop.
I haven’t tried to write since I arrived, so it’s not like I can blame writer’s block on the computer.
More on my lack of desire to work.
As I slip the bag over my shoulder, I wave to the lady, let her know I’ll be back in an hour, and head on out.
The building’s set up oddly. The door leads directly onto a staircase, making me pity anyone who leaves the apartment drunk, then there is a landing before another set of stairs leads you down to another apartment.
When I make it to the landing, I see him.
And my heart?
God, it nearly explodes in my chest.
I hurl myself at him, not giving him a choice. I saw his anger with me in the hospital ward, had seen it and had known he was pissed at me, so I’m not about to let him dawdle.
He doesn’t though.
If anything, he moves his arms around me, hauling me into him, holding me harder than my ferocious hold on him.
Only when he whispers, “Are you okay?” do I realize he’s keeping this clandestine too.
No one can see us on the landing, it’s a private spot.
Maybe we’re being overcautious, but it doesn’t matter.
We have to be.
We’re involved in a conspiracy together, and I don’t intend on living the rest of my life in a jail cell. Nor do I intend for Savio to return to one either.
So I’ll be vigilant until we leave the country and can be open with our feelings once more.
“I’m fine now that you’re here. I wasn’t sure—”