Chapter 46
“Tell us again, what happened after your father showed up?” the detective asks.
For the second time, I’m retelling the story I’ve told to two other detectives with my attorney at my side. I can’t say I’m surprised by the continuous questioning, but it’s starting to get tiring. I’m too emotionally overwhelmed to be trapped in a room for hours on end.
“We were planning on talking. Our relationship has been strained over the years, and I’m sure you can understand why,” I say. “When he came, he brought his…I don’t know, bodyguard?” I pretend I don’t know what Javier’s relationship with my father is.
“Javier Perez?” he questions.
“I guess. Anyway, after a while, Johnny—”
“Johnathan Sabatino?” the detective cuts in.
“Yes. He burst through the door, threatening my father.”
“Were they not friends? As I understand it, Mr. Sabatino was your father’s underboss.”
I shrug, sighing. “Sir, I couldn’t tell you many details about their business or relationship. I’ve hardly spoken to my father in over eight years. We live different lives, you see.”
He nods, writing something down. “Continue.”
“The argument turned physical. Just a couple punches thrown, but then Johnny said my father would regret not listening to him. He mentioned someone by the name of Bonetti and he took off.”
“The Bonetti Crime Family, yes,” the detective says. “Your father just let him leave?”
“Yeah. He stormed out and Dad said he’d talk to him about it later.”
“I see. What happened next?”
“Sammy walked in. He had a gun and said it was time for my dad to fall.
Then several other guys came in after him.
A man in a mask aimed his gun at me, but Javier shoved me to the floor and took the bullet in his arm.
It was chaotic. There was so much gunfire and fighting.
People were yelling, and I was face down on the floor for a minute, thinking my life had come to an end.
“When I finally flipped over, I saw a man shoot my dad in the back. When Javier saw this, he rushed toward the gunmen, but he was shot twice. Then he aimed the gun at my father again, but my dad shot him first.”
“What happened to Sammy?”
“Well, I rushed to my dad, not thinking straight, and forgetting Sammy was even a threat. He had stepped back when all the shooting had happened, and at that time, I was concerned for my father.”
“Even though you weren’t close?”
I narrow my eyes. “Of course. He’s still my dad.”
He makes a face like he wants to judge who my father was, but he flattens his lips. “Keep going.”
“As I’m searching for my phone to be able to call the police, Sammy shoots my father in the face.”
I take a break to wipe the tears from my cheeks again, trying to get my breathing under control.
“He then aimed at me and I dropped to the floor. Next to me was a discarded gun, so I picked it up and stood, hoping I’d be able to run away, but prepared to defend myself.
As soon as he saw me, the gun was aimed right at my head.
He was going to kill me just like he killed my father.
I just started shooting,” I sob. “I was so scared and I didn’t want to die. ”
He gives me a minute before questioning me again.
“And who called the police?”
“Someone came in,” I say, wiping my face. “I don’t know who he was. I assume he knew my father. He took in the scene and saw me sobbing on the floor and walked back out.”
“Hmm,” the detective murmurs, writing something down.
“That’s all you know?”
“Yes.”
“All right, well, I’ll be back.”
Once he leaves the room, my attorney—one the family has used for years, turns to me.
“You’re going to be booked. It’s typical, but we’ll get you out on bond.
This is self-defense. You shot Sammy out of fear for your own life.
Considering who he is, it won’t be hard for people to believe that he was in fact out to kill you.
You shot, not with the intention to kill, but to keep from being killed.
He just happened to die.” I nod. “Everyone else there is not your problem. They all shot each other. Your father, God rest his soul, is gone. What he may or may not have done isn’t relevant. ”
“What about Javier?”
“We’re waiting for him to get out of the woods. Police are outside his hospital room. I’ll let you know what happens.”
I nod again. “Thanks.”
“You’ll be okay, kid,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”
I’m not sure I believe him, but I don’t say that. The detective comes back in and tells me I’m being booked.
As I’m escorted out of the interrogation room and through a brightly lit hallway, I can’t help but think about the clergymen at the church and what they’ll think when they find out what happened.
And how I was involved. There's no way I’ll be allowed to work there after the news breaks, even if I wanted to.
“Father,” a detective says, getting my attention.
“Giancarlo is fine.”
A week after everything happened, I knew it was time to face Bishop Charles. We have a lot to discuss, and there’s no point in putting it off.
When I arrive at St. Joseph’s, I stand before the stage, staring up at the stained glass window. For the last time, I appreciate the beauty and opulence this place has, then I pass the confessional booth that started it all and head toward the office where Charles waits.
After a couple knocks, I hear his voice say, “Come in.”
I push open the door and walk inside.
He greets me with a kind smile, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.
“Thanks for meeting with me,” I say.
He puts down his pen and folds his hands in his lap. “Of course. I’m sorry to hear about your loss. My prayers are with you.”
I nod, appreciating his concern even after finding out who my father is.
Was. Though, now, I can understand the way others might’ve felt when I had offered them prayers while they were in the darkest depths of grief, because it doesn’t help.
I believe Charles has prayed for me, more so than any other random person who says I’m in their prayers.
But regardless of whether it’s true or not, it doesn’t help.
I don’t feel better. It doesn’t take the heartache and pain away.
It doesn’t rewind time and keep me from reliving what I saw and did.
I still feel shattered in a way that doesn’t feel fixable.
Guilt sits heavy in my stomach for numerous reasons, and neither his prayers, nor mine, will do anything to fix that.
They’re simply empty words dropped in an empty heart.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who my father was. We had been estranged. I changed my name for distance and never thought I’d have to tell anyone about our connection.”
Charles nods, his lips downturning, creating more wrinkles around his mouth. “We can’t help who our family is, nor what they do.”
“I can pay for the cleanup of the rectory.”
He waves a hand in the air. “We have insurance.”
“I hate that I brought a negative light to the church.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s negative. It was a tragedy. Lives were lost. Lives taken.” His expression changes slightly. “Lives changed. I’m sure you did what you had to do, and I’m glad you made it out alive. A bloodbath like that, you could say it was a miracle.”
I flatten my lips because I know the truth. There was no miracle that night. There was only murder.
“I know I was on sabbatical. I told you I was already struggling with my place in life, and whether this was something I wanted to do forever. I’m thankful you allowed me the break, but now, after all of this, I think it’s best that I step away.
The attention would be too much. Everyone knows who I am now and my involvement that night.
I can’t continue to preach about right and wrong.
Nobody would take me seriously knowing what they know now. ”
Charles is already nodding, so I know I’m not going to get any pushback on this.
“I understand, and I agree that it might be the best decision. We can start the process, but it can take a while for any dispensation.”
I nod, knowing it doesn’t matter. I’ve already broken the rules. They can choose to make me endure the vow of celibacy, even if they reduce me to the lay state, but it’s not like I’m going to abide by that.
“That’s fine,” I say, standing up. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
Charles shakes my hand. “You take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
When I walk out of the church, I look up toward the sky and feel a little bit lighter. There’s plenty of weight left on my shoulders, but at least this is one thing I don’t have to worry about anymore. It’s time to move on.