Chapter 17
ALESSIO
AS SOON AS Rafael finished his final prayer, my feet were moving. I couldn’t stay there, didn’t know how I’d managed as long as I did.
Maybe somewhere deep down I’d known I needed to hear it. But that didn’t stop the contents of my stomach from wanting to spill the fuck out.
I burst through the church doors as the crowd began to stir behind me, hurried down the stairs, and sucked in a lungful of air.
The faster I got away from this place, the better.
I needed space to think in a place where Rafael didn’t exist, where we didn’t exist, which meant my apartment was also out of the question.
So was Libertine. I didn’t want to risk running into anyone I knew, not right now, so I just kept walking—nowhere in mind, just needing to put distance between me and the man who continued to tear what we’d had to shreds.
When would it be enough? When would I finally realize Rafael would never have space in his life for me and move on?
It seemed impossible to even think about. My whole life had centered around him. Even when his choices took him away from me, I found myself coming back to him. Coming back to our church.
He was still mine. I was still his. Nothing could change that.
I started to cross the street, but a chaos of horns stopped me, curses ringing through the night, both mine and those of the owners of the cars passing by. I ran a frustrated hand through my hair and blew out a heavy breath, needing to get my head on straight.
“…the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
“…the wrong we wish to avoid has a way of finding us anyway…”
So that was it, then. Rafael felt that I, that we, were wrong.
Those fucking passages had felt directed at me, even though he couldn’t have known I’d be there.
It was his guilt manifesting in a sermon, words of what he truly believed, and even though I knew what was in the Bible he preached from, hearing them roll off his tongue was a dagger through my heart. Especially now.
How could he stand up there, so righteous and composed, and talk about us like we were somehow wrong? Like we were a fucking weakness instead of a love that felt like oxygen?
I wanted to scream. Cry. Use my fists in a way that would cause physical harm.
Somehow I’d found myself heading east, entering the quiet park at Tudor City Greens.
To my right, lights were strung up at the far end, faint laughter echoing from a gathering happening, which was the last thing I wanted to be around.
I headed in the opposite direction, through a small garden with several empty benches and not one other soul around, and sank down onto one.
Good timing, too, because I didn’t trust my shaky legs for much longer.
I dropped my head into my hands and tried to breathe through the overwhelming panic rising inside me.
I’d never gotten over Rafael. I’d built a life—hell, a kingdom—around the parts of myself that had survived without him.
I had brothers now, a found family who would burn the world down for me without asking why.
I had purpose. Power. Belonging.
The only thing missing in my life…was him.
The second I closed my eyes, the memory I always tried to avoid, the one I couldn’t bear to think about, slammed into me.
The night everything ended.
IT WAS SO quiet in the church garden that you’d never know the bustling streets of Manhattan surrounded us. Almost like you weren’t allowed to speak, which was why it was never my favorite place.
It was, however, the place I knew I’d find Rafael.
I made my way through the hedges, and the heavy, sweet scent of the roses in full bloom filled my nose. Combined with the heat and humidity, it was too much, and I was tempted to grab Rafael and take him somewhere away from here—but as I turned the corner, the sight of him stopped me short.
He stood by the fountain in a rumpled black suit, his tie loosened around his neck, his shoulders hunched over from carrying the weight of the world on them for weeks.
Even from where I stood I could see the way his eyes were rimmed red, both from holding back his tears all day and from not sleeping enough.
He wasn’t eating enough either, but that was a fight for another day.
I couldn’t blame him for falling apart, not when his parents had been gone now for weeks.
It was all I could do to be there for him when he kept pushing me away, but I needed him to know I was here.
I’d always be here. I could hold him together while he unraveled, and while he healed.
Maybe today would be the start of that. After weeks of dealing with paperwork and funerals and shock, the members of the church had gotten together to hold a memorial for his parents, a celebration of their lives and contributions.
I thought maybe this would help Rafael, but looking at him now, it seemed to only remind him of what he’d lost.
“Rafael,” I said softly, moving in closer.
But he didn’t look at me. His fingers traced the stone edge of the fountain that had already been shut off for the night.
“I can’t do this anymore.” The words were so careful, so quiet, I thought I’d imagined them.
My stomach dropped. “Do what?”
He stopped tracing the fountain, his fingers curling around the edge like he needed something to hold on to. Fear skated up my spine, a sense of dread filling me, but I didn’t know why. He could’ve been talking about anything. Why did it feel directed at me?
“Talk to me,” I said, my voice somehow coming out steadier than I felt. “What can’t you do?”
He finally looked up, and the expression in his eyes shook me to my core. They were much paler than usual, exhausted, but there was something else in them too—resolve. “I can’t be divided anymore. I can’t be yours and His.”
My entire world stopped.
Then slowly rebooted.
Rafael was just hurting. He didn’t know what he was saying.
“You’ve always been both,” I said, and somehow I even managed a small half-smile before adding, “See? I can share.”
But he didn’t crack a smile at that, didn’t even seem to hear what I’d said. “I’ve been pretending I could have both, but I can’t.”
“Rafael.” I stepped closer and stopped short of reaching for him. “You just buried your parents. You’re grieving. This isn’t the time to be making decisions.”
A humorless laugh escaped him. “It’s the only time that makes sense.”
“It’s not—”
“My mother prayed every day of her life,” he said, his voice rough but determined.
“My father volunteered here so much he practically lived here. They believed in this so completely, and they’re just…
gone. They’re gone.” His breath hitched, and he brought his fist up to his mouth.
I reached for him, wanting nothing more than to hold him in my arms and tell him everything was going to be okay.
He couldn’t see it now because life was shit, but he would.
Before I could touch him, he stepped back, away from me.
“All I can think about is how much they wanted this life for me. That this is God asking me to choose Him.”
“This is grief talking,” I said. “You don’t owe God your life because He took theirs.”
“I do, though. I owe Him everything.”
My chest tightened and I tried to breathe through the fear rolling through me so I could reason with him. “You owe yourself something too. You deserve to live. That’s what your parents would’ve wanted for you.”
Rafael’s eyes were glassy as he shook his head. “You don’t understand what it’s like to lose your family—”
“I understand what it would be like to lose you. And I’m not doing it.”
“Alessio—”
I grabbed his hands and held them tight when he tried to pull away. “I’m not asking you to leave your faith. Fuck, I’ve never asked that. I’m asking you to choose me with it.”
“You don’t understand,” he whispered.
“I do. You want to run away. I get that. You want to go somewhere and forget. But we could do that together. I—”
“Remind me of them,” he said before I could finish my thought. “Everything here reminds me of them. You, the church. I need—” He stopped and pulled his hands free. “I need to go away. I need to not be here.”
He turned away from me, walking back toward the fountain, and it took everything I had not to reach for him. Not to grab hold of him and pull him back into my arms, where he belonged.
“I’ve accepted a spot at the Pontifical Gregorian University,” he said in a voice so soft I barely heard him over the pounding of my heart.
“Okay, well, that doesn’t mean we can’t still see each other.”
Rafael turned around, and those pale eyes locked on to mine.
“It’s in Rome, Alessio.”
I knew he’d just said something, but the words weren’t quite registering. Because for a moment there it sounded like he’d said the university was in—
“Rome?”
“Yes. Father De Vecchi wrote a letter, and spoke to his—”
“Rome as in Italy?” I interrupted, not giving a fuck about what Father De Vecchi had done. He’d always wanted to take Rafael away from me.
“Yes.”
“But that’s…” I took a step forward, but when Rafael backed up, I lost my train of thought. Already, he was putting distance between us. I shook my head. “That’s in another country.”
“It’s what I need to do.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to scream, And what about what I need? But what was the point? It was clear Rafael had made up his mind, clear he’d been thinking this for days, weeks now, and had been pulling away to make a clean break.
I hadn’t even been a factor.
“When?” I said in a voice I barely recognized.
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I blinked once, twice, and as Rafael’s face became blurry, I realized exactly what was happening. I swiped at the tear that slipped free, not wanting him to see, not wanting to add to the grief he was already feeling, as my heart cracked in two.
“It’s for the best.”
“Says who? You? Father Dickhead?”
“Alessio—”
“Don’t.” I swallowed around the lump that had formed in my throat. “Don’t say anything else.”
“I need you to understand—”
“But I don’t,” I said, biting back what I really wanted to say.
Now wasn’t the time to tell him that I didn’t understand why he was choosing to leave me.
Why he was choosing God instead of me. Why he was going across an ocean to where I would never see him again.
It wasn’t the time to tell him I was angry, that I was heartbroken, and that every single word coming out of his mouth was killing me.
So I swallowed it.
All of it.
I swallowed every painful word until it churned in my stomach, making me feel sick.
“I know,” he finally said. “That’s why I need to go.”
But the truth of the matter was…he’d already gone.
My Rafael? He’d left me long before now. I just hadn’t wanted to see it.
As he turned to head back toward the church, I reached for Rafael’s hand one last time, stopping him.
“Will you write?”
“It would probably be better if I didn’t.”
Yeah, probably. Better not to give me any hope. Better to just fucking kill me now.
I dropped my hand and let him go, but as he walked away from me, everything I wanted to say replayed in my mind.
How much I loved him.
How much I needed him.
How I couldn’t imagine a day without him in it.
And as it all came bubbling back up inside of me, I turned and ran after him—I almost got there, too. But as Rafael slipped inside the church doors of St. Andrews, Father De Vecchi stepped outside and my feet came to a dead stop.
“Alessio,” he greeted me as he walked down the stairs and took hold of my arm, leading me away from the church, away from Rafael. “Let’s have a little chat, shall we?”
It took everything I had in me not to tell him to shove his chat. But maybe he could help. Maybe he would be able to get through to Rafael and help him understand that he was making this decision out of grief.
I was willing to ask anyone at this stage.
“Yeah, okay. Maybe you can give me some advice.” We headed into the gardens away from the church and people inside.
“Advice?”
“With this whole Rafael thing. You can’t actually believe running away is the answer.”
“Running away?” Father De Vecchi let go of my arm and clasped his behind his back. “I don’t think that’s what he’s doing.”
“That’s exactly what he’s doing.” I took a step toward him. “He’s running away from his home, the church—”
“You.”
“What?”
Father De Vecchi cocked his head, his eyes roving over my face. “You feel like he’s running away from you.”
I opened my mouth, about to issue a denial, but something in Father De Vecchi’s eyes had me swallowing it down.
“You need to let him go, Alessio.”
I shook my head, refusing to hear what he was saying, refusing to acknowledge the truth. “I don’t know how.”
Father De Vecchi reached out and took hold of my arm. “Yes, you do.”
“No.” Tears rolled down my cheek freely now, the reality of what was happening tearing me apart from the inside out.
“He needs to do this and you need to let him.” Father De Vecchi moved in closer to me. “If you keep him from his calling, he’ll never forgive you.”
And there it was. The ever-present Catholic guilt.
Rafael will never forgive you, and neither will God. Your love isn’t enough to heal him, but God’s is, so you need to let him go.
“Alessio?”
“I know,” I finally bit out, a simmering anger beginning to bubble just under the surface. Then I sniffed back the tears and raised my head. “Don’t worry, your holy self—I know what I have to do.”
I pulled my arm free, and gave a final look to where Rafael had disappeared before turning back to Father De Vecchi.
“And I hate both you and your God for that.”
EVEN ALL THESE years later, the wound was still fresh, like it had just happened. I’d built a life. A family. Together my brothers and I had all built a kingdom.
But I still missed the boy with the quiet curiosity who had the best laugh I’d ever heard.
I missed the person he’d been growing into, who had loved me, made plans with me, wanted a future with me. I hated the fact that I hadn’t had a choice in the matter, that Rafael had chosen his path out of fear and grief more than anything.
Did he regret it now? Because I was left with a lifetime of what-ifs. Was it the same for him? Tonight’s homily sure as hell hadn’t felt that way. He looked at what we had as wrong now, didn’t he? No sermon in the world could ever convince me what we had was a sin. I knew better.
Rafael was the love of my life.
And the loss of it.