28. Andrea
CHAPTER 28
Andrea
T he EMTs turn up their noses when they see Gianni. His stench is certainly memorable, but how they handle his body has me wanting to slap them.
One of them covers him with a blanket, tossing it over his small frame like he’s trash, while the other turns to Savio. “He has a gunshot wound. This is a crime scene, Father.”
As the EMTs talk to Savio, I shake my head at their lack of awareness. Can’t they see he’s in shock? And didn’t they notice the drug dealer sneaking out of the church?
Maybe they don’t care about the homeless in their city or the known criminals wandering the street, but my man does.
I want nothing more than to draw him into my arms. I don’t, though. He wants out of the Church, but I won’t have him resign in shame—I won’t advertise the fact he broke his vows.
Halfway through some spiel about staying put to be questioned by the carabinieri, he rasps, “You should go inside, Andrea.”
Because I didn’t expect to be brought into the conversation, I still. “I can wait here, Father?—”
“You’re shivering,” he states, making me aware that I had his attention without even knowing it.
“I’ll be fine.”
He turns to me and, with it, draws the EMTs’ attention onto me too. “You are cold, unwell, and you need something to eat and drink. This was a disturbing morning all around. Please, go inside. I’ll be with you shortly.”
My protest dies before it hits my vocal cords—a warning flashes in his eyes, but it’s tempered with a gentle, barely-there smile.
Biting my lip, I nod and make a retreat.
Each step hurts. Distance between us… I hate it.
While I make myself a chamomile tea, I watch from his kitchen window as the carabinieri show up and speak with Savio. He gets mad—twice. The veins in his temple bulge and the officers try and fail to placate him.
Whatever Gianni was to him, Savio grieves his passing, and as a result, I mourn Gianni too.
My cell buzzes, drawing my attention away from the scene outside the presbytery.
Seeing it’s Diana, relief hits me—the last thing I want is to be dealing with my parents on today of all days.
Diana: You okay?
Me: Yeah. You?
Diana: I’m fine.
Me: Good. I’ll TTYL. I’m a little busy :*
Diana: I want details.
Me: Lol. Talk later
When Savio walks toward the house, I can sense his anger, and I know what’s going to happen.
Fate .
It keeps messing with us.
Here I was, tempting him toward the straight and narrow, then a criminal walks through the doors, confesses to murder, and a homeless man Savio cares for is evidently one of his victims.
Only God can help me now.
Those words… Savio can’t know what they mean to me.
It’s such an unusual phrase. Okay, it might not seem like it is, but thinking about it, I know it’s just not something you hear every day.
‘For God’s sake.’
‘Goddammit.’
Even, at a push, ‘God, help me.’
But, ‘Only God can help me now’?
Until Gianni, I’ve only ever heard that particular phrase twice—the day Linda tore from my apartment, was abducted by her husband, and he killed her. And Savio—he whispered those words to me too.
Three times—a trinity.
That has to mean something.
The door slams closed and I watch him stride down the hallway and storm into the kitchen. Though he barely acknowledges me, I move over to him, nudging him away as I twist the faucet, let the water run, and then pour soap onto my palm.
As I cleanse him, my focus on his bloody fingers, I’m surprised he lets me, but at my side, he seems to be vibrating. Like an animal trapped in a cage.
I don’t look at him, don’t bother.
I know what he wants—Corelli’s blood.
And I don’t blame him.
“Tonight?” I whisper, not because I’m scared. Not because I’m concerned. But because the mood deserves a whisper.
Gianni’s passing deserves respect.
“I-I can’t not. Corelli invited me to his restaurant tonight,” he scoffs. “More like he thought he was bribing me with the invitation. But there , in the territory he values more than the sanctity of human life, that’s where I’ll meet him.”
“You don’t have to justify anything to me, Savio.” I slide my hands over his, rubbing our fingers together and joining them in a tight clasp. “I understand.”
“How can you? You’re light. You’re?—”
“I’m yours.” I don’t let him finish that sentence, not when Gianni’s last words echo around my mind. “I’m what you need me to be.” Even if that makes me an accomplice. “We can do this. But first, you need to wash up. You have a service to?—”
“I don’t want to do it.”
“You must.” He’s full of nervous energy. Just waiting around here would do him no good. “Do it in Gianni’s honor.”
He swallows. “I have to go to the local station tomorrow. They need to take my fingerprints.”
Nervously, I ask, “They won’t find a link to any of your other…”
“ Peccadillos ? No.” His laughter is bitter. “Gianni didn’t deserve any of this, Andrea.”
I brush his hair from his forehead with my wet fingers. He was pristine this morning. Looking like innocence itself in his vestments. Now, with hair mussed, clothes stained, and the violet stole of confession in an evidence bag after being used to staunch Gianni’s bleeding, he’s actually in a state I prefer.
He’s a man.
Not a priest.
Touchable.
Reachable.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“He wasn’t a good man, not in all ways,” is his gruff retort. “He used to disappear, then would return flush with cash. I knew he was involved with drugs.”
“I wonder if he stole something or?—”
“That doesn’t merit leaving him to bleed out like a pig on the street! Corelli can’t get away with this. The police are in his pocket. He’ll walk away, but I won’t let him.”
“No.”
“You’re not going to stop me?”
I bite my bottom lip. “Would you let me?”
He releases a shaky breath. “Probably.”
Though his admission is like a warm hug, I rasp, “‘Only God can help me now.’”
“Gianni’s last words?”
“Linda, the lady I-I tried to save but who died, those were her final words to me too.” My gaze turns distant as I think back to another time, another place. A different world for me. One where I was...
I sigh.
What was I?
I’m not exactly normal now. But my brain doesn’t have the same pressure on it as before, so I have to think my reasoning is sounder than it once was.
The doctors said the cyst made me a risk-taker and encouraged me to be more impulsive.
I wonder what they’d blame this episode with Savio on?
Brain damage from the trauma of surgery?
My lips twist at the thought, but it’s a good thing to remember. If we ever get caught...
“Linda said those words?” he repeats slowly.
“Yes. I’d never heard that phrasing before her. Not in real life, anyway. Then you said it last night. And now Gianni.”
“ I said it?”
“Yes. Don’t you remember?”
“No.” He rubs his temple. “I don’t.”
“You did. I swear, Savio, you did.”
He hushes me. “I believe you.”
Throat tightening, I rasp, “You do?”
“I do.”
“No one ever believes me?—”
“I’m not ‘no one.’”
I release a shaky breath. Those are words I’ve thought but he’s said them. Out loud.
“I think it’s a sign,” I blurt out.
“Not everything is a sign,” he tells me gently, like he’s back to thinking I’m crazy.
“This is. Two deaths, two precursors to those deaths with that phrasing in my presence, and then you?” I shudder. “It’s meant to be.”
“God doesn’t…” He hesitates but finishes off with: “…send signs like that.”
“He didn’t. But maybe he knows what’s in your heart and mine. Maybe this is his way of absolving you.”
Savio winces. “Hardly?—”
“You’d have killed without thought before. Now it’s sanctioned.” My tone is resolute, as is my resolve. Each word pounds through me, forcing me to believe more than I did at the start.
Those words were the beginning of my journey.
They were the catalyst that led me to this point.
To him.
And now, this is the next phase of our lives.
He’s already said he doesn’t want to be a priest anymore. But for this to happen today? For it all to go down as it has? I know in my heart this is right.
Though his eyes are loaded with doubt, I reach up on tiptoe and press my mouth to his. As I do, I breathe in this moment. Breathe him in. Us .
The doctors can take a lot away from me, but they can’t take this .
Thirteen years boil down to four words:
“I love you, Savio.”
And I’ve never meant anything more in my life.