33. Savio
CHAPTER 33
Savio
All For Love - Bryan Adams, Sting, Rod Stewart
I wake up in a hospital bed.
At first, I wonder what the hell happened, then it hits me.
I remember.
It isn’t the first time I’ve landed in a hospital room, but it’s the first time there’s been someone sitting at my bedside.
She’s curled up, her hands propped under her chin as she sleeps like a child would.
Innocent.
An ache in my temple is what I get for attempting to recall the events of… last night? Events that presumably led me to this bed—drawing Corelli out of his busy restaurant by calling him a murderer, where he dealt with me personally rather than having his guards handle me because I’m his priest.
Catholics...
So myopic.
Foolish, really.
I remember little else, save for our shouting match being disrupted when Andrea appeared out of nowhere—like her wings had carried her.
I sliced Corelli’s throat at her urging, then took a knife to the abdomen once the bastard lay sputtering on the ground.
My brow puckers at the memory of her screaming, of her drawing interest our way, and then I remember nothing.
With the blood loss from the evening before and then her stabbing me, it’s no wonder I lost consciousness.
Even now, though I’m awake, I feel half asleep.
Why did she do that? Why would she?—
Her eyes pop open like she knew I stirred, and the love in them takes me aback. It’s hard to think, hard to even speak as I realize I’m pain-free for a reason, but I distinctly remember those eyes on me as she stabbed me.
“You’re on a lot of codeine,” she whispers. “For your… stomach. But your back too.”
My tongue feels thick, like a sponge in my mouth, and she shuffles in her seat before getting to her feet and drifting over to a nightstand.
The hospital room is plain, and by decor alone, I know I’m in a regular one, not a convent or a clinic that’s attached to the Church. It’s not painted white with an uncomfortable bed, nor is there a crucifix gracing any of the walls—clue enough.
She pours me something that makes a clacking sound, and I tilt my head to see ice tumbling into a plastic cup.
When she places an ice chip in my mouth, the relief is instant. But the second the liquid soothes parched tissues, the second I can speak, the pain of betrayal far outweighs the pain in my body. “Why?”
Andrea isn’t stupid. Crazy, but not stupid. She knows what I mean.
“To protect you.” She presses another piece of ice to my mouth like it’s a pacifier. “All I do is for you.” Her smile is a delight to behold, but it’s hurtful too. “That should be a song. Wait, wasn’t that a Bryan Adams song? Everything I—” Her attention drifts. “No, that’s ‘All For Love.’” Her smile turns rueful. “Same difference, I suppose.” Then she lifts her hand, presses a finger to her lips, and like that, a knock sounds at the door.
How the fuck did she do that?
I flinch, but when she pulls it open, I see two carabinieri standing there.
“Ma’am, you’re still here?”
The policeman’s surprise is clear.
“He was attacked. To wake up alone would be cruel,” she replies with a shrug.
“You speak good Italian,” the other praises, and I can see from the glint in his eye that he’s attracted to her.
I can’t blame him.
She’s… glorious.
With her ruffled hair that she hasn’t even bothered to gel, her fae-like features, and a body made for sin, why wouldn’t any red-blooded man fall for her?
Jealousy entwines with anger as she becomes coy in front of my very eyes. Tilting her chin to the side in a way that reminds me of the stupid games men and women play, she preens as her voice turns husky. “Thank you. I’ve been studying a long time for this trip.”
“I’m just sorry you had to witness this on your first visit to Rome.” The cop shakes his head, and I don’t know why I look, but I see his hand has a faint marking from where a wedding band once laid.
Recently.
Great, more competition.
I almost huff at the thought.
She turns to look at me, and I see mischief in her features before she erases them of all expression. “I can’t believe that lunatic did this to him. He’s a priest!”
The second cop grunts, but he turns his attention to me. His face becomes harder, but there isn’t any accusation there.
As I stare at him, the brush of His hand on my shoulder tells me that I am on the right path. That He has blessed me for protecting the innocent. Otherwise, I’d be in a jail cell. Or a coffin.
I put my faith in Him, and this time, He did not fail me.
Dazed by the prospect, I blink when the officer asks, “Father, can you answer some questions?”
“He’s only just woken up,” 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 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, and swiped blindly. Then, there was just...” She releases a shaky breath, and because I know her better than the police do, I can tell it isn’t fake. The blood, the sheer quantity of it, surprised her. “There was so much blood. It was everywhere.”
Her lies shared, I shoot the officers a stunned look. “Did you hear about Gianni Incrocio’s death?”
The first officer steps forward as he tucks his beret under his arm. “I’m Vicebrigadiere Esposito, Father. You mean the hobo who died outside your church today?”
“I took Corelli’s confession prior to Gianni’s death. During his last rites, Gianni said Corelli was the man who shot him. That’s why I went to see him.” In an effort to sound penitent, I add a croak to my voice. “I tried to contain my distress, but I had to confront him.
“I went with peace in mind,” I lie. “I urged him to hand himself in to the police. But he wouldn’t. When we went outside, he grew aggressive, saying he exterminated Gianni and did the city a favor!
“The young lady has it right. It played out like something from a film.”
“I’m Bianchi, Father,” the other officer greets. “You say Corelli confessed to Incrocio’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 drums his fingers on the nightstand. “Did he say why he killed the hobo?”
“The hobo 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?”
“I suppose…” Her eyes cut to me. “Father, I wish you well. If there’s anything I can do?—”
“No, child. Thank you, but you did more than enough for me today.” The motive behind her actions settles like a soothing balm in my soul. “It’s only when you screamed that Corelli became distracted. You saved me from further attack. I’d be dead—” Or worse. “—if it weren’t for you.”
Her bottom lip gets sucked in between her teeth, then Bianchi opens the door and wafts her out. She grabs the anorak she dumped over the back of an uncomfortable-looking armchair. “Officers, you have my contact details if you need to ask me anything else.”
I’m not happy she has to leave either. “Go with God, child.”
Her eyes widen, but she slinks off—slowly turning her head to the side at the last minute.
Bianchi closes the door, cutting off our final glimpse of one another. “We should have escorted her to her accommodation earlier, but she’s pretty stubborn. Refused to leave your side even in the ambulance.”
“I recognize her.” I mumble the falsehood, not even surprised when I start to feel the pain of my injuries now that she’s left me. The distance between us… hurts. That’s impossible—no? “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?”
“No. She seems lucid to me, and it’s all cut and dry?—”
“I think I remember her,” I mutter.
Esposito tilts his head. “From the alley?”
“No. She attended communion at my church yesterday… today? What day even is it? But she was there.”
The cops share a look, but it’s Bianchi who says, “God sent her to protect you, Father. Who knows what might have happened if she hadn’t distracted Corelli.”
“He wasn’t the kind of man you confront,” Esposito agrees, his tone sharp. “You should have come to us from the start.”
“The seal of confession cannot be broken,” I reassert. “I could only urge him to go to the carabinieri . He wouldn’t.” 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?”
“ Si . I knew about it. Mostly that, on the days he paid them, he gave them just enough to stave off their hunger but never enough to find shelter for the night.”
“Can you give us any names?”
“The second the police were around Gianni’s body, you and I both know anyone who might have any pertinent information 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 end.”
“The police were at Remo’s this evening because we gained enough ground in a case against Corelli. We Caponed him, but it wouldn’t have gotten him off the streets forever.” Bianchi 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,” he concurs, “but we can hope they’re not as good as Corelli was at hiding their tracks.”
“I’ll pray for it,” I rasp, meaning it. Just because the priesthood is no longer my calling, doesn’t mean I’ve lost my way completely.
Esposito eyes the bandages on my stomach. “Have you spoken with a doctor yet?”
“No. I only just woke up.”
Bianchi murmurs, “I’ll inform the medics you’re awake, Father.”
The officers share a look. Esposito nods and Bianchi leaves, but after the door closes, he murmurs, “God was certainly on your side, Father.”
“W-What do you mean?”
“Clean cut, straight through the gut.” He taps a place on his abdomen. “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.”
Her glare is ferocious as is her declaration: “Good.”
“We’ll be in touch, Father.”
Eyes wide, I try to appear what I’m not—innocent. “Will I be charged…?” It pulls on my many wounds to make the sign of the cross, but I do it because it’s expected of me.
“No. It was self-defense, but you’ll need to come in and make a statement, and if you could get those names to us, I’d appreciate it. If you could also 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. “There might be repercussions after today, Father.”
His statement has me shrugging. “If they come knocking on my door, there’s nothing I can do.”
I doubt Corelli’s grunts or successor will be interested in me, but Esposito’s right to caution me. In my position, I’d be safe, but I don’t intend on being a priest for long. The cassock won’t protect me then.
Esposito 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 reply, almost simultaneously.
But it’s Bianchi who says, “We’re always looking for informants…”
Without waiting for me to reply, he and Esposito depart, 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, and works with a nurse who makes an appearance, I’m left wondering if it was God who’d been watching over me or an angel He sent for that explicit purpose.
An angel 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…