8. Carina
CHAPTER 8
Carina
“ B less me Father for I have sinned. This is my first confession.” My voice is a haunting melody that softly encompasses the confessional.
I sit inside the wooden structure with a centre compartment that divides the priest and I.
As I stare ahead there is an antique wooden cross that hangs above the door. And besides me there is a latticed opening in the small shapes of crosses that makes it difficult to see the person on the other side clearly.
Although the divider provides us privacy, allowing me to have anonymity, I know who sits on the other side.
I’ve attended Father Frank’s Catholic Church since I was born.
My papa and mamma are heavily Catholic but it was my mamma who respected the religion.
She had faith, blind faith in God. And that blind faith led her to strike the fear of God in her children.
But mamma didn’t realize before it was too late that papa was more godly than her God. What papa said was sacred. And he passed on his own religion, the religion of La Famiglia, the religion of The Mafia, to his two sons.
And they studied his religion as if they were the chosen ones. They did anything to earn their God’s praise. And they worshipped at his feet, and did his bidding like precious soldiers.
All in the name of La Famiglia.
All for their God, Savio Fiore, their papa.
Until one had had enough of worshipping at the altar of a God and wanted to become one himself.
That sin, that betrayal led him to his demise.
Both of her sons lost to sin.
And she wrongfully accused New York City, The City of Death, for corrupting the men in her life.
But it wasn’t the city.
It was papa.
All our paths that have led us to sin and have damned our souls to Hell have been because of papa.
“In order for this to work, child,” Father Frank says softly but encouragingly, “you must tell me what you want to confess.”
“Sorry, Father. I was thinking of my late mamma,” I say wistfully, a small sorrowful smile straining my lips.
“Do you think of her often?” It’s an innocent question. One free of prying.
And of all the sins I’ve committed, lying to a priest in a confessional is one I do not want to add. “As of late, yes.”
He hums in response, letting my truth sit in the air for the both of us to breathe. Then he poses a question, “Why do you think that is?”
Because I’m questioning the darkness and the light.
Good and evil.
Right and wrong.
I’m questioning if there can be a blur.
And if such a blur exists am I too deep in the depths of the dark abyss to ever see the grey line. To see a glimpse of the light.
The Pandora Box has been unlocked and with it comes the questions of my existence. With it comes the Catholic guilt that mamma had taught me.
And along with that guilt, the guilt that I have become someone my mamma would’ve been highly disappointed in, one she would’ve been terrified to see, comes with the ultimate sin, a man who is an embodiment of it, that I can’t help but be tempted to fall deeper in.
Constantine Donati.
And yet with this deep loathing I hold for him, with this bitterness that sits on my tongue, and the fury that laces in my veins, there is also an intrigue.
Because the man who is The Devil of the East Coast, the monster who I am forced to marry, the dark soul who instills fears and shows no mercy to any soul defended me earlier this week.
Constantine Donati defended me.
And in the same breath he threatened Luca in my name.
He’s a beautiful enigma wrapped in sin.
And I must confess that I want to solve the conundrum that is Constantine.
My mamma would want me not to be blinded by the beauty of the rose because the thorns would get me.
But with Constantine the thorns are seen. And those thorns with blood dripping down the stem are just as enthralling, if not more, than the petals.
“Do you believe that people can be all good, Father?” I ask him softly.
“I believe that people are good, my child, and that sometimes they lose their way.” His voice is kind and I know that he’s trying to reach a part of my soul that is no longer there.
“And what if they aren’t?” My voice shakes slightly at the end. I swallow. “What if sin has tempted them and they like how it feels?”
He hums again but this time it’s troubling. “Everyone falls to sin, my child, but that does not mean that they can’t be redeemed. All souls under the love of God can be redeemed.”
If I could laugh, I would. I have to place my hand over my mouth to suppress the dark chortle of laughter that wants to break free.
Redemption.
As if there is such a thing as redemption.
Can souls as dark as mine be redeemed?
My hands are forever stained red.
Can a murderer be redeemed?
“What if they can’t be redeemed, Father?”
“Everyone can be redeemed, my dear child. Everyone deserves the chance to try,” he says softly. “I believe that in every person there is light inside them. It can be grand or just a flicker. But as long as they have a semblance of light, they have hope. And with that light, with that hope, they can try again, my child. They have the chance to be redeemed. Even the ones who have divulged in sin and liked it. There will always be light, my child. And the light will always prevail.”
I want to believe him. In the dark depths of my soul and my black bleeding heart I want to believe the words that Father Frank says with absolute conviction.
At one time I did.
Before my rebirth I saw a world, a world where people were meant to be good. A world that believed in forgiveness. A world that was kind.
But my eyes have been opened and I see the world for what it really is.
It’s corrupted.
Evil.
In my world, where evil lives and breathes, where monstrous acts are praised, where living in sin is the only way to survive, how can there be someone who possesses a flicker of light?
There can’t.
And it’s beyond foolish of me to even consider myself or rather anyone of being good.
But if that is true, if there is no goodness, if there isn’t a flicker of light left in any of our damned souls, why did Constantine defend me?
And if The Devil of the East Coast does have a flicker of light inside him why is he bestowing that light upon me?
These questions, this battle of light and dark, good versus evil, the questions that Constantine evokes in me have plagued me since we met.
He did not only awaken my body but he has also awakened the moral compass in which I thought had been destroyed.
How is it that the man who is the Devil himself is resurrecting the human qualities in me?
And in that very same process he’s also managing me to willingly dive deeper in the dark abyss by simply taking his hand.
Constantine Donati promises a world that is dark but he also offers glimpses of light.
And it begs the question, if one can be considered all evil yet possess qualities of goodness are they really evil?
Does possessing darkness mean that one can not also possess light?
Questions.
Maddening torturous questions.
A loud pounding of a fist meeting wood jars me and jolts me out of my thoughts.
“Time is up, Carina,” the deep voice that belongs to Gino, my bodyguard, informs me.
I hear the deep sigh come from Father Frank and I wish I could echo his sentiment.
I do, however, roll my eyes with great annoyance. And in the comfort of the confessional, shielded in privacy, I don’t have to face the consequences for displaying disrespect.
Not that Gino would care. On most days I swear that he annoys me to rouse a reaction out of me.
But with this privacy I take the small victory and let it fill me with a sense of pride as the barest hint of a smile forms on my lips.
“You haven’t made your confession yet, my child,” Father reminds me.
“Another time, Father,” I reply lightly, softly, knowing that Gino is on the other side and can hear our conversation very well.
“Of course, my child, but I ask of you one thing,” he pauses for effect and I wait rather patiently for what his wishes are. “Try to find the light even in the darkest of corners. Can you do that for me, my child?”
Lying to a priest is not something I want to add on the list of crimes that I have committed. “Of course, Father.” And yet the lie flows easily from lips. If I hadn’t already damned my soul to Hell, this only solidifies it.
He hums, this time sounding pleased.
I exit the confessional, leaving with more confusion and sin than I had before I walked in.
Gino nods his head in my direction and regards me with his steel-blue eyes. His lips are set in a firm line and his square jaw is tense. He stands wide, with his feet apart and his hands crossed in front of his silver belt buckle. I know under his suit jacket, that is tailored to fit him perfectly, hides a gun tucked in the back of his waistband. And the inside of his jacket holds multiple knives and weaponry beyond my knowledge.
Gino has always been one who appreciates his weaponry. So, it comes to no surprise to me when I see him reach inside his suit jacket with his long skilled fingers and retrieve a dagger to weave in between his fingers without it slicing his skin.
I raise a cool brow. “Still not fond of The Catholic Church?”
The dagger stops weaving between his middle and ring finger as he stares at me with hard eyes. “All churches are the same, Carina,” he says flatly. Gino is the only person outside of my family, and Constantine, to address me by my first name. His eyes fleet around the space, taking in the pews, the altar, the cross, and the beautiful stained glass. Whereas others eyes would be filled with awe, his are filled with revulsion. “Filled with nothing but hypocrites and the worst kind of sinners.”
I can’t disagree with him. Even when I was younger, when mamma had made me learn and recite the Bible I never quite believed in it like she did. Yes, I had believed in goodness and redemption and forgiveness but that didn’t come from God. That came from my mamma and the lens my papa controlled. When you only see the beauty in life it is easy to believe that those things exist.
“If you dislike churches so much why don’t you request another soldier to guard me?” I don’t ask because of my curiosity, but rather to keep the conversation going. Giuseppe and Gino are the only two who I can hold conversations with.
He points the dagger at me before waving it in the direction towards the exit where the outside world exists. “Because I’m the only one who is qualified to keep you safe.”
If amusement could dance in my eyes, it would. Gino holds himself highly above the other soldiers. And perhaps in a way I don’t blame him. From the soldiers I have seen none of them are as masterly skilled as him. “Are you saying papa’s soldiers are unqualified?
Gino scoffs. “What I’m saying, Carina, is none of them are better than me.”
“Surely not,” I reply in what I hope is a teasing manner, but more often than not my tone always ends up flat.
However, Gino’s lips pull upwards. Like Giuseppe, Gino has never given up on me. Not since he’s become my bodyguard the day after my mamma’s death ten years ago. “Would you prefer to have me replaced?” He does succeed in sounding amused.
“No,” I say to appease him but I’m finding it within myself to be true. Yes, on most days the man annoys me to no end, and I find him more of a bother than anything. But. . .but Gino has been with me since my mamma died. He consoled me when I cried myself to sleep and he stood by my side. Gino reminds me of the part of myself before my rebirth, just like Giuseppe. And that’s why I can’t find it within me to give either of them up. My heart may be black, my soul tainted, but even I am not that cruel.
He smiles brilliantly, his teeth flashing like sparking diamonds. Then he winks at me. My skin doesn’t even flush. And it should because Gino is also a harmless flirt who is charming and handsome. He has a face made for Hollywood and a physique that’s impressive and eye catching. I understand why when we walk on the busy streets of New York City women and men will give him a second look.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret.” His voice is hushed.
My lips purse as my brows pull together. “What secret?”
He leans in, the scent of cigarettes and lemons assaulting my nostrils. “That you care for me.”
I want to scoff. I want to roll my eyes to the heavens. I want to laugh.
But I don’t.
I offer him no reaction.
And I haven’t offered anyone such a reaction since my rebirth.
Anyone except Constantine Donati.
Staring at him blankly, hoping that he’ll drop his assumption that proves to be more true than I’ll ever care to admit, I ask nonchalantly, “You said my time was up?”
He leans back but a hint of a smile remains in his steel-blue eyes. The dagger dances between his fingers again but this time at a faster pace. If I hadn’t seen him do this for the thousandth time I would expect him to cut his own finger off. “Constantine Donati has requested your presence at his home.”
There’s a saying that if a demon walks inside a church they’ll begin to burn.
Well, here I am, in a church nonetheless, and my blood boils, burning my skin as I hear his name.
“Requested? Doesn’t that mean for one to ask politely?”
Gino snorts. “Good one. Really, Carina. I knew you still had a funny bone in there somewhere.”
I blink at him, my only show of my exasperation.
“I thought requested had a better ring to it than he ordered for your presence to be at his home immediately.”
The burning intensifies until I feel the flames swallow me whole.
This man.
The sheer audacity of him.
To order me as if I’m an animal. As if I’m his dog.
I’ve had enough of being ordered around.
“No.”
Gino’s eyes go comically wide as his mouth gapes open before snapping it shut. “No?” He repeats, stunned.
I stand tall, pushing my shoulders back and jutting my chin out in pure defiance. An act only he has been responsible for bringing out in me. “If Constantine wants to see me then he can come to me.”
“Carina-”
“No, Gino. Today I had planned to visit mamma’s grave and not even The Devil of the East Coast is going to keep me from her. He can wait.”
“Constantine Donati isn’t a man who waits, Carina,” he warns me and then adds, “He waits for no one.”
“And now he’ll wait for one. Capisce?”
Gino nods his head but there’s a faint smirk on his face he can’t hide along with pride in his eyes. “Capisce.”