Chapter 46
Lorenzo
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” I said, crossing myself. “My last confession was six weeks ago.”
“Go on,” Cristian said.
We were seated in my office, just like always when Cristian came for my confession, but my brother had never looked so gaunt before. His eyes were hollow and haunted. “Three days ago, I had a man killed,” I said.
Cristian swallowed hard. “Why would you do that?”
“He hurt someone that I—” I didn’t know what to say. “He hurt someone under my protection.”
“So, it was revenge?”
“Yes.”
“Would you do that for anyone in your employ?” Cristian asked. His deadpan voice and neutral expression were starting to bother me. My brother was lively and warm, and sometimes a pain in my ass, but he wasn’t this.
Normally, it would be easy to tell my brother that I would kill for my people because I would. I had before. But I couldn’t say that I had killed Father David because Isabella was my surrogate, and we’d struck a deal. He and I both knew that if I said that, I would be lying.
“I would do anything for my people,” I said, “but I took revenge for Isabella because she matters to me.” The words came out in a rushed mumble.
Some life finally sparked on my younger brother’s face. “What was that, fratellone?”
I bit the side of my cheek until I tasted blood. “I have come to care for her,” I said slowly. “In my way.”
Cristian chuckled humorlessly. “You can’t just say that you have feelings for her, can you?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Emotions rarely are,” he said. I used to believe that my brother was wise beyond his years, but then he told me it was part of the sympathetic ear that they learn in seminary. He had to be someone that other people could talk to. Either way, he was good at it. “Have you told her?”
Was this therapy now? I bit back the first smartass reply that came to mind. “Why would I do that?”
His eyebrows wrinkled inward. “You’re falling in love with a woman, and you’re not going to tell her?”
The air froze between us. “Are you out of your mind? Who said anything about falling in love?” I demanded.
My younger brother crossed his arms over his chest. “She matters to you,” he said. “You care for her enough that you sought out the person that hurt her. But admitting that you might be falling in love is too far?”
I stood up. I couldn’t quite look at him, so I crossed my office to the bar built into the opposite wall.
It wasn’t often that I indulged during the day—and especially never in the middle of a confession—but a strong drink might be needed now.
I poured two fingers of whiskey, and then looked at Cristian.
He nodded, and I immediately poured a second drink for him.
I came back to our usual seats and handed him one of the glasses. “I don’t love Isabella,” I said finally. “I could never love her.”
“Because Sienna was your soulmate?”
I took a long sip of my drink, hissing slightly as the warmth spread as it went down. “I made vows to her in front of God.”
Cristian didn’t look impressed. “Those vows were ‘til death do you part,” he said. “Sienna has been gone for longer than you were ever married. You can’t tell me that you’re still the mourning widower.”
“Vaffanculo,” I spat. “You will never know—”
“Who knows,” Cristian cut me off. “I might find myself a wife one day. Maybe then I would understand why you would choose to die while you’re still living.”
Whatever argument was stirring between us ground to a screeching halt.
Ever since Cristian had decided to take the seminary route, he had never faltered in that decision.
He was going to dedicate himself to the Church and to God, and he wasn’t going to be one of those priests who didn’t walk the walk, so to speak, even if he had to learn to “close his eyes” to my moral failings from time to time.
To hear him talking about a future where he didn’t end up a priest was unthinkable. It wasn’t who my brother was. “What’s going on, fratello?”
Cristian’s expression went slack. “Nothing.”
“Non dire cazzate.” I didn’t want to hear lies or excuses, especially not from him. “Talk to me.”
He let out another humorless laugh. “Are you my confessor now, Enzo?”
“If that’s what you need,” I told him, and the sharp smile on his face faded around the edges. “I know what happened with Father David was fucked up.”
“No,” he said. “You don’t know. You could never possibly understand.” He drained the whiskey in his glass and crossed the room to pour another. “If a man like Father David could fool me, make me believe that he truly was a man of God, what if all I’m learning is bullshit and lies?”
“And what if Father David truly repented?” I countered.
“What if he got back on the straight and narrow and dedicated himself to the Church?” I held up my hands before Cristian could launch into an argument.
“I don’t have any regrets about what I did; I would do it again a hundred times over.
But it doesn’t mean that Father David didn’t spend every night after that one trying to earn God’s forgiveness. ”
Cristian eyes grew shiny, but he blinked all of that away. For all of his emotional maturity, he wasn’t any more likely to actually cry than I was, no matter what the circumstances. “Father David was a liar,” he said, more to himself than to me.
I could keep pushing him, but this was one of those things that Cristian was going to have to figure out for himself. “While we’re back on the subject, so to speak,” I said. “I have to deal with Isabella’s father.”
“You have to? Or you want to?”
“Both,” I said. “I want to break the man’s fucking neck for what he did, but more than that, he’s a danger to Isabella.”
Cristian thought for a moment. “What does she want?”
My hands curled into fists. “I can’t let her bury her head in the sand,” I said. “She thinks that if she ignores him, then he’ll disappear.”
“Has he contacted you at all since she’s come here?”
I shook my head. “Not a word, and he hasn’t been to our casino either, so he has to be racking up more debt somewhere else.”
“Well, if you have his cash cow, that could present a real problem for him.”
I was glad that he understood. “So, how do I deal with him?”
Again, Cristian lapsed into quiet contemplation.
He didn’t look like he was praying to me, but he might as well have been for how long it took.
“Normally, I would tell you the exact opposite of what I’m about to say,” he said.
“But I think you and I both know that the peaceful approach would be too good for the likes of a man who would turn over his daughter to unknown evils to save his own ass.”
“You’re right,” I said. Santino Rossi was a selfish man, and he would continue to be a selfish man whether he was in New York City or halfway around the world. He wasn’t going to change if all they did was try to scare him or run him out of town. “Are you telling me to kill him, fratello?”
Cristian blinked once. Twice. His expression was frighteningly empty. “I’m telling you to do whatever you need to do to protect the woman you love.”
There was that word again. Love. “I don’t—”
“Please, Enzo,” he said sharply. “You forget that I know you better than anyone. I know what you were like with Sienna, and I know what you would be like with Isabella if you let yourself.”
“I can’t.”
Cristian shook his head. “You won’t. That’s different.” He held up a finger and ticked it in the air, like he’d remembered something important. “There is one thing that you have to do though.”
“What?”
“Show her a picture of Sienna.”