ONE
ISABEL
ROME, ITALY
“I’ve almost got it,” I mutter as a leaf blows into my mouth.
Not unless Sister Maura spies on us again. She’s always tattling, despite asking to join Daia and I on our tunnel adventures. She’s a fighting spirit being stifled by the rule of God himself.
I’ve lived inside the church for as long as I can remember. Prayed to a man I don’t even believe exists. How can he when he allows the things that happen to me? My earliest memories of this horrid place: agony, strife, conflict. There’s always something challenging my faith in His grand plan.
“Come on, Isabel!” Daia’s plea is more insistent, which means someone is coming. Probably Sister Dolores. The old hag enjoys nothing more than to drag me around by the ear and toss me at Father Cassio’s feet. She glories in the punishments I take at the hands of Sister Hildegard’s beloved whip.
I don’t understand why they don’t let me leave. According to the documents Daia and I found a few weeks ago, I’m older than eighteen. At least the date listed on the intake form of the day I was brought here is older than eighteen years. It’s sad really. To not know my legal birth date or age.
I’ve never celebrated anything in my life.
I glimpse the fireworks from the city of Rome a few times a year, but I’m quickly dragged inside and tossed into the dungeon before I can enjoy them.
I’m stuck behind the walls of this prison all day, every day.
There is no relief. There is no exploration of the country I wish I knew how to appreciate.
There is nothing more I’d love than to leave, but the last time I tried, I wasn’t able to move for a week. Daia had to tend to me, and while I don’t remember the horrors of those days, it puts fear in my friend unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Jumping out from the bush, I shove the rosebud in my pocket and hold the dead branches in my hand, so I have an excuse for being out here.
“Nobody is around. Why are you so worried?” Turning on the hose, I use the cold water to wash the blood and dirt off my arms. If luck is on my side, no one will even know what I’ve been up to.
“I heard Sister Anna calling your name. She’s going to find out.” I don’t know why, but Anna scares the daylights out of Daia. She won’t give me details, and every time I try to snoop, someone is always around. “Isabel!” Her sharp tone tells me I’m in trouble.
“Go.” I push the nun away, inside the back entrance. I’ve always done everything I could to protect her. She’s the only one here I can trust, and I’ll never put her in danger or in the line of fire the way I always seem to be.
“What are you doing out here?” Anna rounds the back corner of the church wall with a sneer on her face. The look is one I don’t like.
“I just wanted some fresh air.” I never elaborate. It’s how lies are caught. And as much as I hate it, I lie to the sisters often.
“You have a meeting.” She grasps my arm, pulling so hard, I stumble and drop the dead branches I was holding as I attempt to balance myself.
“You’re hurting me.” Her nails dig into my upper arm, and I know there will be bruises there later.
“Shut up. If you’d just do what you’re told, you wouldn’t be hurt so often.” Her clipped words as we enter the hallway leading to Father Cassio’s chambers have bile rising to my mouth.
“Where are we going?” I’m not allowed in this wing of the church.
It’s one rule I’ve always followed. Something in my gut screamed that I must listen.
Entering a room across from the door labelled office, I feel sicker.
It’s small, and chains line the walls. “No!” I won’t be shackled. I won’t stay here.
Tugging on the grip holding me hostage, my feet drag as she pulls me farther into the room.
Stronger than I ever would have thought, I stumble to my knees when she stops abruptly.
“Stop being so dramatic, and do as you’re told for once, Isabel.
” Shoving me face first into the ground, Sister Anna leaves without another word.
Scrambling to my feet, I rush to the door.
The lock prevents me from opening it, and I whimper.
Banging my fists against the heavy wood, I spin and look around for an escape.
The walls are tall with only a single window near the vaulted ceiling.
No trap doors, no way to climb up…I’m stuck.
And until they open this door, I have to remain.
Dropping to the ground in the corner of the room behind the door, I let out a blood-curdling scream. Loud enough that I hear the birds lift off the rafters outside and see their shadows fly across the sunlit window.
I wish I had wings.
Pace
I fucking hate church.
I hate corrupt churches even more.
In a city dedicated to love and religion, there are too fucking many Godless houses of worship.
On the outskirts of the city, Saint Joseph’s Basilica looms ominously in the otherwise light sky.
From the dreary brick and mortar to the hollow windows, there is nothing welcoming about this hellhole.
It screams evil, yet people are still drawn to it.
Walking up the steps to the imposing ornamental doors, I pull it open just as a high-pitched scream sets off a flurry of birds from the rooftop and surrounding trees into the clouds. It’s chilling, and if I were a man with fears, I’d turn the other way.
The doors expand into a large entryway, with a view of the central hub of the building.
A pretentious alter sits above the rows of benches for the parishioners, and that’s where I see him.
Father Cassio. I don’t know if that’s his first or last name—there isn’t nearly as much free information available about the man as I’d like, and the church isn’t one to be forthcoming.
He’s speaking to another male, one who seems familiar but I’m unsure why, as a nun approaches them.
She draws their attention to me by pointing my way as I lean against one of the back pews, arms crossed.
I came to intimidate today, and my attire reflects that.
Dark-wash jeans with rips in the knees, rows of chains hanging from my front belt loop to my wallet in my back pocket, combat boots, and black muscle shirt highlight my equally dark tattoos.
Especially given they cover nearly every inch of my body.
The silver chain around my neck holds the pentagram of the devil, and the large rings on my fingers are hard to miss.
Right now, they’re likely surmising that I’m some ex-con, a lost soul, maybe a drifter looking for absolution. I’m none of those. I’m just a man hired to hit a church with a list of names.
But that scream…
Filled with anguish and fear. It’ll haunt me until I find the voice on the other end of it.
“Can I help you, son?” Father Cassio finally walks towards me as the nun escorts the other man away to a back hallway. My eyes stay with them until they’re out of sight. “Sir?”
“Pace,” I say, still not looking at him. “What was that scream?”
I know he’s going to lie to me before he opens his mouth. “It’s an old church, lots of odd sounds happen. They’re more pronounced when it’s empty.”
My austere eyes slide to take him in now. Lasering him with the same intensity as I feel, I call out his lie. “The church feels agony?”
I watch the way his throat works to swallow. “It hears the pain of my congregation, of the lost souls.”
Jesus Christ. “Straight-up terror, too, then. There’s fear in these old walls?” Walking past the old man, I don’t let him feed me anymore bullshit. “I thought you were supposed to tell the truth, Father Cassio. Your God frowns upon lying.”
“Wh-what are you talking about?” His facade easily shatters, but I’d like to play with him some more.
Glancing back at him over my shoulder as I follow the same path as the nun. “That was not the church screaming out the pain of its confessions. That was a woman afraid, terrified.” I watch him closely.
When his eyes drift to a door down the hall, that’s where I head. “There are no women afraid in my church. We are open to all and provide love and faith to those who need it.”
“That so,” I mutter as we approach the door, and I notice the nun and man in an office across the hall from it. Turning the doorknob of the one the priest glanced at, I find it locked. “Open it,” I demand.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot,” he replies stubbornly.
“Can’t, or won’t?” I challenge.
“Both.” His chin raises in challenge.
Facing the priest fully, I allow my gaze to travel up and down his body before a sadistic grin spreads my lips. “Perhaps I should introduce myself properly.” Cassio’s eyes seek out the nun. “I’m Pace Cardarelli. Natale Morello sent me.”
His face pales so quickly, I think he’s going to pass out. “Morello,” he repeats in a hushed tone as I nod. “Wh-wh-what does he want?”
“Morello?” The person in the office comes forward. “I know Carlo; we’re old friends. How is he?”
I don’t need to look at the man to know he’s no friend of the Morellos. Anyone who is, wouldn’t be asking about them, and they wouldn’t be admitting to knowing them in a place like this. “Ask him yourself…” I leave the sentence hanging.
Clearing his throat, I feel his eyes on me. “Albert Liani.”
“Albert Liani.” I repeat his name and commit it to memory for future use. I have the feeling I’ll be seeing this guy again. “What are you doing here, Albert?”
“Making a donation.” His grin is slick, just like his greasy hair.
“I’ll be back, Father Cassio. I suggest you be here when I do.” Walking away with that scream still haunting my ears, I stroll casually to my motorcycle sitting on the street outside.
I fully intend to return. But not right away. I want them to grow comfortable in the assumption that I’ve left and forgotten about them. Only then will I figure out what I missed today, because my presence won’t be felt the same way it was now.