Chapter Fourteen
P lease, please, please.
Please come after me.
Please say you don't want me to go.
Please stop me from leaving.
But none of these things happened as she ran out of the room, past the crowds in the club, and into the endless night.
She ran without knowing where she was going, and she would have kept running if not for someone suddenly blocking her way—-
Justina?
In Sarica's desperate attempt to avoid collision, she ended up stumbling backward and straight into a mountain of garbage bags stacked against the alley wall. One of the bags burst, and the stench of something umistakably fecal assaulted her noses.
" Oops ."
Sarica's heartbreak turned into annoyance in a flash at Justina's tone of sham sympathy.
The other woman made a show of wrinkling her nose even as she offered Sarica a hand, and even though Sarica knew she should just be thankful—-
I'm so sorry, God.
Sarica allowed Justina to pull her up before stumbling forward and wrapping her arms around the other woman as tightly as she could.
Sarica pretended not to notice Justina struggling to be free.
One more second...
There.
Sarica made sure to properly share her new fragrance, Eau de Garbage, with Justina before taking a step back. The other woman looked as if she was about to throw up, but Sarica pretended not to see this as well.
"Are you okay?" It was Sarica's turn to feign sympathy. "I'm so sorry for crashing into you...like...that." Her voice trailed off as her mind started working again.
Wait a minute.
She looked at Justina suspiciously. "What are you doing in New York?" More importantly, did Justina come here with Giancarlo, and oh dear God, did these two marry again for another stupid reason—-
"I never got around to apologizing for what happened that day."
Sarica sobered up at Justina's unexpectedly tight tone. "You don't have to say sorry—-"
"Then I won't."
"But if you insist—-"
"I'm not."
"Please, be my guest." Sarica looked at the other woman expectantly.
Justina was starting to look green again, and Sarica was feeling better and better.
"Sorry."
Sarica shook her head. "What was that? I didn't quite hear—-"
Justina glared at her. "Do you want to know why I'm here or not?"
"But honestly, you don't owe me an apology at all," Sarica continued without missing a beat. "I know I look like a sweet fragile princess—-"
"Said no one ever," Justina snapped.
"But I'm actually very tough," Sarica went on, "and I can totally protect myself. So let's consider the slate clean between us, and we can get to discussing why—-"
"Giancarlo's in trouble—-"
Sarica jerked in shock. "W-Why—-"
"Or perhaps I should say he's still in trouble because someone forgot to rescind her offer for a million dollars on whoever—-"
Justina stopped speaking since Sarica had already gone running back to Giancarlo.
I hope I'm hearing You right, God.
That day in the airport had humbled Justina. It had forced her to take a good, hard look at herself, and what she saw had made her weep. She had been so proud...for nothing. She had thought herself stronger than Sarica...but instead it was the opposite. She had acted like God had abandoned her all these years, but in reality, she was the one who had run away from Him.
Her life had changed since then, and while she was still new to talking to her Father in Heaven—-
I think...I just made You smile.
Didn't I?
Her phone buzzed. It was a text from one of Giancarlo's brothers, confirming that they had received their urgent call for help and was on their way to rescue him. Her lips cracked a smile as she read their message. Mission accomplished. And as she dropped her phone back in the inner pocket of her jacket, that was when she heard it—-
Yes, child, you did.
IT TOOK MERE SECONDS for Giancarlo to realize he couldn't let things end this way between Sarica and him. Making her feel she had to earn his love was the last thing he wanted. He needed Sarica to understand that she was wrong. He loved her. Would always love her. But she also had to understand...it was because of how much he loved her and his famiglia that he had to let all of them go.
Finding no sign of her outside the VIP room was already to be expected. Their first fight in Cayed, and later on, how she had defended herself in the airport, had forced Giancarlo to accept that she was no longer the helpless girl who once needed his protection. She was strong now—-and that was yet another reason she no longer needed an imperfect being like him.
Once he was out of the club, Giancarlo only had seconds to scan the streets before a group of hired muscles blocked his way—-and not a single onlooker cared to interfere as they immediately hauled Giancarlo to a nearby alley.
This was New York, after all.
And one thing everyone did exceptionally well here was minding their own business.
The men shoved Giancarlo down on his knees, but he made no move to resist or flee. A part of him was already wondering if God would still allow him in Heaven...if he chose not to fight back.
The first punch caught Giancarlo in the jaw, but he remained silent, his stoic facade unbreakable. They dragged him to his feet, a pair of men holding him back by the arms while another fist pounded his ribs. But the pain remained negligible. Was it because he was ready to die?
From just a block away, the night rang with the usual noise of revelry. The heart-thumping beats of whatever song it was that the DJ in Dauphin Tueur club's was spinning. The drunken cheers mingling with laughter. The roar of powerful car engines speeding past.
But despite world doing its best to drown Giancarlo in its mind-numbing cacophony, a quiet voice inside of his head was still clearly audible, and His every word underscored by sadness.
Why are you throwing your life away?
His Son was sad. For him.
Does My death on the cross mean that little to you?
Giancarlo's eyes squeezed shut. It meant everything. Everything. But how could he still live, knowing that he would be a burden to the people he loved?
I didn't die for You to replace me as someone else's savior.
I died to save you.
I died in order for you to live.
Giancarlo's powerful body began to shake, and his attackers laughed. They all thought fear had finally overcome him, but on this they could not be more wrong. For it was understanding that crashed through Giancarlo like a tidal wave.
When you are weak, you are strong.
Because of Me.
Remember?
What Sarica and La Strega had been trying to tell him—-but what Giancarlo had been too lost in his own self-pity to comprehend—-suddenly became blindingly clear.
Fear had made Giancarlo see himself in one of his father's men, a man whose limp had prevented him from protecting his master.
Just as Giancarlo's injury had kept him from reaching Sarica in time.
Self-pity and stupid pride had made Giancarlo see his injury as a physical weakness.
But what it truly exposed was the weakness of his faith.
Giancarlo had thought himself strong because of his own abilities.
But such strength had limits and imperfections.
Human strength failed and expired...while God's strength was infallible and infinite.
Giancarlo had forgotten that with Him by his side, he had more than enough, and there was nothing for him to fear.
He had God.
God.
And just as this truth united Giancarlo's mind and heart, body and soul—-
That was when Cesare burst into the alley like an avenging angel, his massively letha frame filling the narrow space, and his signature brutality on full display as he carved a path with calculated swings of his powerful fists.
In his wake emerged Massimo, his coldly charming smile never slipping as he easily sidestepped the an enemy's blade. His every move was taunting but precise, and one stab was all it took for his opponents to crumple. Sedated but not poisoned, and they had God to thank for Massimo's changed heart.
From the shadows came two more: Ezio, whose stealthy aways made him seem one with darkness, and Lorenzo, his sister's husband, who was not called the Beast of New York for nothing.
Their eyes met across the violence, his brothers' gazes fierce with meaning. It was their turn to prove to Giancarlo that they were no longer defenseless and reliant on him for protection. Their chance to let their eldest brother know that it did not matter if Giancarlo had briefly lost his way.
God is on our side, fratello.
That is our strength.
So come back and lead us again.
Strength like he had never known blazed through him, and Giancarlo was able to overthrow the men holding him back with a roar. He turned around, intending to help his brothers—-
Sarica.
HER LUNGS WERE ON FIRE , but not once did she even think to stop running. The devil taunted her with images of Giancarlo dying because of her, but Sarica shoved away every silly thought as soon as it attempted to take root.
Get. Behind. Me. Satan.
A familiar sight in a darkened alley caught her eye, and Sarica skidded to a halt.
Cesare?
Ezio?
Massimo?
And even Lorenzo?
Relief thundered through her even as she charged toward them. Individually, the Marchettis were nearly unstoppable in any kind of fight. But when the brothers fought together as one in accordance to His will? They were undefeatable, and—- oomph.
Sarica collided with something solid, but she was already lifting her knee up even as she fought to regain her balance. Fingers gripped her arm while one strong hand pushed her knee back down with firm gentleness before it could do any damage.
"It's me, Sarica."
That voice.
Her head jerked up, her heart in her throat.
Giancarlo.
It really was him, and he looked absolutely terrible.
Oh God.
This was all her fault. Her fault. And it was while Sarica was struggling to come into term with her guilt that Giancarlo suddenly went crashing down, and her lips parted in silent horror.
NOOOOOO!
For one terrifying moment, Sarica could only look around them wildly, wondering who it was that had shot him from behind—-
No, God, please.
—-until she realized Giancarlo was simply down on one knee, and he was holding out his signet ring.
To her.
Was he seriously proposing to her while his brothers were still fighting off the bounty hunters that she had accidentally forgotten to call off?
It wasn't hard at all to understand what he was telling her without words, and it was just so like the Giancarlo she knew, loved, and sometimes wanted to strangle. Just so like him to propose marriage amidst danger, and all so he could prove to Sarica and his famiglia that he finally understood what all of them had prayed he would remember.
He no longer had to be in control.
He never had to.
Because he never was in control.
God was the one who had been keeping them safe all this time, and it was the only reason why - even though they were the first and only famiglia to completely turn their back on crime and embrace a life that upheld righteousness and mercy - the Marchettis remained in power, undefeated and unrivaled.
But even so.
"You—-" Words failed her completely. Sarica was overcome with the urge to simultaneously laugh, cry, and crush a pair of a certain gentleman's balls with the way Giancarlo's eyes were now gleaming up at her in amusement.
"Is that a yes?" How so, so like Giancarlo to ask this like he hadn't done his best to break her heart in the past several weeks.
Everyone thought he was an angel, and she his personal devil, but surely, with the whole of New York watching, they could finally see the truth he had revealed only to her in the past?
Even though he looked as if he had been beaten within an inch of his life, Giancarlo remained the annoyingly gorgeous embodiment of pure unapologetic cockiness, and even though a part of her was childishly tempted to make him pay—-
The other part of her remembered when it was once the other way around, and Giancarlo had never ever given up on her—-
It remembered how his love had anchored her in the years she was lost, and how his disappearance had been the reason she had come to truly understand what it meant to depend on God—-
It was because of this that had Sarica throwing herself in his arms—-
"You had my answer years ago," she choked out, "but you didn't come back to hear it."
—-and she realized that she didn't want to waste another day without him.
Giancarlo swallowed hard as Sarica started to cry in her arms.
Thank You, God.
Thank You.
And because he truly was grateful, he paid no attention to Sarica's newly acquired scent as he cupped her face and took her mouth in a kiss.
He loved her, Eau de Garbage and all.