Chapter 23
Vivi
RAPHAEL STOOD OUTSIDE the church at the top of the stairs, a tower of holy dominance in black slacks and a matching shirt tailored sinfully close to the lean line of his body.
Without the collar, no one would suspect he’d given himself to God.
He was tall. His hair and skin and eyes were beautifully dark, highlighted by full lips that were pink in the center, fading into a deep crimson on the outer edges.
Every Sunday, the pews were full of blushing parishioners.
Later, they’d bring offerings to the parsonage with high hopes they could tempt him from his vow.
I slammed the Range Rover’s door after climbing out—a clue for Luca on how his latest cazzate still stung my eyes.
But my vision was full of Rafi, my best friend.
I raced up the stairs and threw myself into his waiting arms. He accepted me with a grunt and a smile pressed into my hair.
My throat closed over a lump of emotion, and he held me tighter.
“You look different, Vivi,” he whispered, giving me one last squeeze, then pushing me away with his hands on my shoulders.
“It was Mama’s.” I smoothed the fabric on my hips to loosen any wrinkles in the silk.
His brow arched as his gaze scanned my body. “The jacket belonged to Simone as well?”
More than the early summer sun warmed my cheeks. I took a minute to come up with an explanation and slip my arms through the sleeves of Luca’s blazer. “There was a breeze coming off the bay this morning. He—I was—”
“This is what you want?” Rafi asked, glancing behind me.
“He is who you want, Vivi? You don’t know his birthday or his middle name, for that matter, yet you want to spend eternity with him?
” His tone was light but insistent. Rafi knew more about me than anyone else in the world.
He knew I wanted to run. He also knew Luca was the only reason I would stay, even though his past remained a mystery.
I turned to look at him as an entourage pulled up behind the Range Rover.
Damian and a handful of men exited the vehicle and stood on either side of Luca.
His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but I felt them stroking over my skin.
A muscle in his jaw popped, probably because Rafi held my arm.
Priest or not, he was a man with his hands on me. “Can we talk inside?”
Rafi nodded and guided me through the grand-double door entry.
The soft tap of our shoes was joined by another pair in the narthex.
I glanced over my shoulder and slowed my pace.
Luca was the only one to follow us in. When he entered the sanctuary, he stopped at the first pew, and a picture of an infant flashed in my mind.
A tiny bundle wrapped in a blanket and abandoned in the exact same place.
Nearly thirty years later, Luca was all man.
Sleek frame. Broad shoulders. A brooding disposition.
Among all this glory, he should’ve looked like the devil—the proof was etched into the side of his face.
But in truth, he was and always would be beautiful to me. Il mio bellissimo salvatore.
His gaze fell from the rafters and caught mine, a blue flash of vulnerability was quickly covered by the popping muscle in his jaw.
“Their eyes for mine, Vivienne. Don’t be long.”
Luca’s voice boomed through the nave, and I shook off a shiver in acknowledgement. With a quick nod, I followed Rafi into the sacristy, then tripped over my own feet and the little cherub from the mission.
Pop, pop.
Bullets and blood.
Mama’s eyes and a cold sheen of sweat on my skin.
I blinked down as the toddler reached up. “Ms. Cabie. Ms. Cabie.”
I fell to my knees, wrapping myself around her and gasping for a breath while my mother’s death played out in my mind. A chill rocked down my spine. This little girl survived the massacre, but where was her mother? I opened my eyes and had my answer.
The room was small and poorly lit from a lone window.
She sat on a fading brocade settee in the corner.
A smile curled the corner of her mouth while she pulled her daughter from my arms. As she did, the collar of her sweater slipped, exposing a gnarled black-and-purple bruise wrapping around her neckline.
“Christy,” she said. “And this is Angela.”
“I remember,” I whispered.
“I’m very sorry for your loss. We’ve prayed for you and Simone.”
I nodded but only stared at her throat, then the fading pink-and-blue smudges staining her daughter’s cheeks. Goose bumps sprung on my arms. “Who did this?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” I said, rising to my feet. “I really just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“We are now. Father Musa was kind enough to help.”
I glanced at him, and he motioned me into his office, where he closed the door. Rafi sat heavily behind his desk, as if the weight of the last two weeks was too much to bear.
Guilt rolled around my stomach. “Christy’s abuse is somehow tied to me and Mama.
Don’t deny it.” I paced. He watched. “The last time I saw her, she was fine. They were both fine, and then Angelini’s men arrived.
What happened after that?” I stopped and faced him, waiting with hands on my hips. “Tell me,” I insisted.
His shoulders sank with resignation. “They couldn’t stay at the mission after Simone died. No one could for a time.”
“So they went home?”
“To a husband and father who has a temper and heavy hand.”
“Oh, God.” I collapsed into a chair, my palm smacking my forehead.
“It’s not your fault.”
“None of it is.” I waved away the words. “I’ve heard that before, and I just don’t believe it anymore. I brought those men to the mission. Mama brought those men to the mission. Being a Cabello is a curse.”
He scoffed. “Enough of the self-deprecation. The mafia’s war isn’t yours to own, and I won’t hear another argument. Everything happens for a reason, Vivi, and sometimes it’s hard to understand what that is. For Christy, she now has the chance at a new life.”
A new life. I sat up. “How?”
“Davy Gallow is a parishioner at Our Lady of Solace.”
His lined face came to mind, along with the whispers that spun through the pews a few years ago when the cops busted him unexpectedly. “He dealt in fake documents.”
Rafi reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a key that fit the bottom drawer of an old filing cabinet. He retrieved a manila envelope, spilling the contents onto his desk in a rainbow of passports, birth certificates, and everything Christy would need to start again.
“He’s out on bond and donating his time very generously to the congregation.”
“Holy shit.” I slapped a hand over my mouth, then signed the cross with a silent but sincere apology for the blasphemy.
“It’s in the name of God,” Rafi claimed.
“You could go to prison,” I warned.
“Christy almost died before her husband laid hands on their three-year-old. Yet he’s free, and they’re prisoners in a system failing to protect the innocent. If the law cannot help, then I must. I’ve coordinated the opportunity for them to have a fresh start. They leave tonight.”
Passion deepened his tone and sparkled in his eyes. He was such a good man. I wrung my hands and chewed my lip because so many people relied on him. I couldn’t ask him to risk his life on my behalf when the sentence for my crime wasn’t a cell but a coffin.
I sighed in acceptance, yet I was also bolstered by the opportunity to right Christy’s wrong. “How can I help?”
Rafi stared for so long that goose bumps popped on my arms; then he smiled. “You can tell me what you need, and let it not be a list of Hail Marys and Our Fathers.”
“Ugh,” I groaned, easing back into the chair. “You know me too well.”
“Just enough. Now get on with it.”
I laughed, but the story stole my joy when the retelling was something attuned to a crime novel—a quick rehash of Mama’s note and how I found it.
“So, you’ve solved this riddle?” he asked, two lines digging into his brow.
“Some of it, yes.” I opened my purse and retrieved the paper covered in my scratchy handwriting, then handed it to him.
“What does this mean?”
“Mama opened a safe-deposit box in your name at the bank on Broadway. There isn’t a key, just a code, and these are the numbers. You’re the only person who can access this account. She trusted you with my life.”
He studied the details, then gave me his eyes. “And what will this do? Help you leave? Is that what you want, Vivi?”
Blood burned hot in my veins with the need to punish Mama’s killer. And also for Luca, who I wanted with me. Then it ran cold. “I don’t think I have a choice. Vigo’s on the verge of selling me off like cattle.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “A marriage to a stranger, unless your father’s soldier offers for your hand before he does.”
My heart thump, thump, thumped a hopeful beat. “The soldier has a name, and I’m not sure Luca will ever ask. I know in my heart that he feels something for me, but every time he gets close to saying so, he rolls back his feelings. Honestly, though, why would he want me? I’m not exactly a prize.”
“For goodness sa—”
I held up my hand, cutting him off. “Come on, let’s be real.
I have loads of baggage. My father is the devil.
Stefano is an actual demon sent from hell.
My mother was murdered. She’s put me on a wild goose chase and told me you’re the only person I should trust. Literally, that’s what she said.
I’m afraid of thunderstorms and have an emotional impairment that prevents me from crying, so who knows how that will affect my psyche down the road.
I’m a true pillar of stability over here. ”
I pointed to myself and hoped he would smile.
He shook his head instead. “You’re God’s creature, Vivienne. He’s painted you as you were meant to be, beautiful in your own way. Luca should be so honored to have you in his life, as I am—my perfect friend.”