Chapter 40
Isabella
Ilaid out plates at each chair and helped Amalia put out the silverware.
We were using the formal china and good silver and actual fabric napkins.
“Tell me about Father David,” I said, looking at Damian, who was already set up at the table.
He was looking better today, not nearly as pale, and he didn’t have to wear his shoulder sling anymore.
He glared at me a little, still not entirely happy that I wouldn’t clear him for work one hundred percent. “He was Lorenzo’s father’s confessor,” he said.
“So, he used to visit a lot more.”
Damian nodded. “Every other week or so,” he said. “I didn’t live here then, but I knew because I came with my uncle for dinners, and Don Gallo would complain that Father David gave the former Don Vitali more consideration when scheduling confessions.”
“Do the Vitalis have that much sway on the Catholic Church?”
“As far as I know, no,” Damian said. “None of the Vitali businesses interfere with the Church.”
“My uncle Carmine tithed more than the average person,” Elio said. His eyes were glued to the phone in his hands. He had been scrolling through some file or other since he sat down. “But he wasn’t bribing the Church or anything. He would have spit nails before he did that.”
“Why haven’t I met this Father David before?” I asked. “He sounds like he was such a big part of the family.”
“Sienna,” Elio said, looking up from his phone, and that was all the answer I needed. Lorenzo had withdrawn from the Church after her death; it made sense that he would put distance between himself and the man that embodied the Church.
We heard footsteps, and then Amalia was leading Lorenzo, Cristian, and an older man into the dining room.
Father David was well into his sixties with a head of thick, salt-and-pepper hair and warm, dark eyes.
He was smiling when he walked in, but when his eyes landed on me, the friendliness leeched out his expression.
“Father,” Lorenzo said, motioning me to come to him. I did, still wary of the look on the man’s face. “This is Isabella Rossi, my surrogate.”
Oh. So, he told Father David about our arrangement. Or, at least, enough of it. I held out my hand, but he didn’t reach out to me. I let my arm hang in the air for a moment before awkwardly lowering it back to my side. “It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
His smile was brittle. “I wish I could say the same, but Lorenzo likes to keep things close to his chest.”
I chuckled and winced when it sounded so forced. “That he does,” I said.
Amalia, sensing the tension, shooed the men to the table. “Isabella, come help me get the food?”
“Absolutely.”
I followed her to the kitchen. The pasta, eggplant parmesan, and everything that she had made were already in white serving dishes, ready to be taken to the table.
It smelled heavenly, and I said a silent thanks to the universe that I didn’t have another bout of nausea.
Salmon had been off the menu since our attempted date.
Most fish, to be quite honest. Amalia, sweetheart that she was, had simply stopped making it, and Lorenzo must have impressed upon Elio not to complain about the change.
“Have you met Father David before?” she asked as we picked up the dishes.
“Not that I’m aware of,” I said. “My family is Catholic, in theory, but I haven’t been in a church since I was a kid, and any of the churches that I attended weren’t his.”
“How odd,” Amalia said. “He looked at you like he’d seen you somewhere before.”
“Maybe he knows Gemma. We look a little alike.” I had no idea if my sister was a practicing Catholic anymore, but I made a note to ask.
“Maybe.” We carried the dishes to the dining room and put them on the table. “Dig in, everybody,” she said.
Dishes were passed around, and everyone loaded their plates.
I picked up my fork, but then I felt a sharp kick from across the way.
I looked up, and Amalia shook her head and flicked her eyes in the direction of Father David, who was sitting beside Lorenzo at the head of the table.
I put my fork back down and put my hands in my lap.
Father David stood. “Let’s bow our heads,” he said, and he started to pray over us. As he spoke, every hair on my body stood on end. Cold washed over me, and suddenly, I couldn’t feel my fingers or my toes.
I knew that voice. I had heard this prayer before.
I was suddenly back on a cold tile floor, pinned by men pressing their full weight into my arms and legs with their knees. My limbs ached with remembered pain. The scars on my torso burned as if I were being carved open again. I was shocked when my clothes weren’t wet with blood.
My lungs stopped working. There was nothing I could do to pull in air, and I pushed back my chair, nearly dragging the tablecloth with me.
“Isabella?” I could hear Lorenzo’s voice, but he sounded so far away, like he was calling to me from the end of a long tunnel.
My eyes were on Father David, and there were so many words that wouldn’t come out. Screams were trapped in my throat. Black spots danced across my vision. I’m going to pass out, I thought. That couldn’t be good for the baby.
“Dolcezza?”
Lorenzo was closer now, but I couldn’t see him anymore. Panic was going to boil me alive. My arms swept out, reaching, and someone caught me, but that someone became a man putting his weight on my back, praying and apologizing as he sliced into me.
“Help.” My voice came out as a squeezed whisper.
And then the world went dark, and I wasn’t afraid of anything anymore.