Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
KENNEDY
“Where are you staying, Kennedy?” Father Marc asks as we stroll along the quiet path, Truffles trotting beside us.
He’s been my rock, my sounding board, ever since my entire life went to hell.
I glance down at Truffles, watching as he discovers the first fallen leaves of the season rustling in the breeze. “A friend’s place. It’s temporary.”
I don’t mention it’s Knox’s place.
He’s suddenly out of town on assignment and offered me a safe spot to hunker down as I lick my wounds and figure out my next move.
When Riley vanished, he promised to keep tabs on her, too. But he’s become Fort Knox lately because he won’t say where she is or what she’s doing. Only that she’s safe and protected. Knowing that she might turn up at Knox’s place, I wanted to be here if she did.
“How are the girls holding up?” he asks, glancing at Sofie and Lili with a fond smile as they make faces at the shiny surface of Cloud Gate .
For years, I wondered why an artist would create a giant metal bean and plop it in the center of Millennium Park. Obviously, it was so little girls could have the time of their lives making silly faces and giggling like maniacs.
“Sofia and Lili have been having a blast at Camp Dory’s. Neutral territory. She’s a natural with them, and they love it there. They build sheet tents and pretend they’re at Hogwarts. Dory’s even turned her kitchen into a mini cooking school.”
“Is it as idyllic as it sounds?”
I exhale with a deep sigh. “It helps them sleep. They don’t like beds.” I pause, struggling to get the words out. “And Dory...she manages to soothe them better than Enzo and I ever could. Even when they wake up crying.”
“It’s hard,” he nods, deeply sympathetic.
“Cries are easier. When they wake up screaming, it rips our hearts right out of our chests. For whatever reason, they always go rushing to Dory.”
“I know it’s hard.” He sounds more than compassionate, like he’s lived it.
I shake my head. “It’s a relief. At least one of us can bring them comfort.”
“You’re all bringing them comfort in your own ways.”
I shrug. “We’re trying to make it work.”
“No,” Father Marc says calmly. “You are making it work, Kennedy. Working through trauma is like digging out of a tunnel with a spoon. Some days, you make great strides. Other days, it feels like you’re stuck in the same place. They’re lucky to have you all. ”
“Especially Enzo.” My smile warms. “He reads to them every night, whether he’s here or not, though lately, mostly not. The miracle of FaceTime.”
For some reason, knowing he reads them all the Harry Potter books and does every last voice feels like a sliver of hope blooming in my chest.
I pause, feeling the weight of Father Marc’s gaze on me. He teeters into the subject carefully. “Did he ever respond to your message?”
He’s referring to my Can we talk? message. Shame and regret twist inside me like a knife. “Not a word,” is all I say.
Some days, I think he’ll text or call, and other days, he doesn’t. And then there are days when my finger hovers just over his name on the phone, but before I can dial, a riptide of guilt drags me under, instantly killing all my courage.
Father Marc nods, his eyes full of understanding. “It’s important to give yourself grace and time to heal, Kennedy. You’ve been through so much.”
“I held a gun to my husband while he defended me.” I shake my head, the memory stabbing at my insides. “I can’t face him.”
His elbow nudges me gently. “You’re braver than you think.”
The breeze kicks up, and I pull my sweater tighter and shiver. “Thank God Knox barged in when he did. I don’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t.”
Hands clutched behind his back, Father Marc stays quiet and contemplative. He has to be around Enzo’s age—maybe even younger.
Yet, there’s an air of wisdom about him—a depth that’s impossible to ignore. It’s as if he’s seen the darkest corners of the world and carries the weight of secrets and sins with a haunting grace, no matter how heavy the burden or how it torments him.
Truffles tugs on the leash, but my mind stays elsewhere. “What I don’t get is how Knox knew to barge in right when he did. Until the gun was in my hand, I didn’t even know.”
His expression shifts, a flicker of something familiar. Could it be...guilt?
Why would a man of the cloth feel guilty? He’s a living, breathing sanctuary of trust.
Sanctuary of trust . . .
The phrase lingers, gnawing at my thoughts. The church. A stronghold that weaves together the dark, dangerous threads of men who despise each other. Like Enzo and Knox.
I know Caleb Knox goes there, his St. Michael’s pendant conspicuously dangling from his neck when he’s not buttoned up to the chin. Which I only noticed it because when he left town, for once, he wore a T-shirt and jeans.
And Knox is nice and all, but he’s no Enzo.
Frankly, no one is.
But the church represents a safe haven to monsters like Andre, who had me deliver a ridiculous wad of cash to Father Marc.
I might be slow on the uptake, but eventually, I connect the dots between these three men and a priest who looks guilty as sin. “Confession,” I say aloud.
Father Marc nods. “Sure. Anytime you want. I’m happy to take your confession.”
“I’m sure you are. Just like you’re ready to take everyone’s confessions. With the world going to hell in a handbasket, business must be booming, right? Sinners swarming in to get every sin absolved—Feds and mob kings alike.”
He looks away, the conflict in his eyes unmistakable. “Kennedy, if you’re asking what I think you’re asking, I wish I could help, but?—”
“You can.”
“I can’t. The seal of confession is sacred.”
“Sacred enough to hide the truth?”
He blows out a long, tired breath. “Breaking that seal would not only violate the trust placed in me, but it could also cost me my priesthood. It’s immediate grounds for excommunication.”
“What if it prevents a crime? Or saves a life?”
“What kind of world would it be if people couldn’t safely confess every last sin, seek forgiveness, and be absolved? It would violate the sacred trust placed in me by everyone—rich, poor, old, young, cop or criminal.”
He’s in an impossible position. I get that. But so am I, and I’m not backing down. I lock eyes with him, refusing to let him look away. “My father was killed.”
His head drops. “I know.”
“I blamed Enzo, almost killed him for it, and he just took it. Didn’t argue. Didn’t even fight back. And Knox, who can’t stand him, dove in headfirst to save his life.” I press my temple, feeling like I’m losing my mind. “Please, I’m begging you, Father, what am I missing?”
His gaze meets mine, regret and compassion battling in his eyes. “I know how confusing it must be from your vantage point. And if it’s any consolation, it’s probably just as baffling for everyone involved.”
“Except you,” I snide .
“I wish there were another way. But the answers you seek can’t come from me.”
Frustrated, I explode. “You’re getting cash from Enzo and Andre, and you’re what? Switzerland?”
He hushes me, glancing around nervously. “Yes, my child, I am. Andre’s money keeps the lights on, pays for day-to-day operations. Enzo’s money goes to...”
“Free the very women Andre enslaves?”
Stunned, he asks, “Enzo told you?”
Okay, here’s the thing. It was just a hunch. But I’m pulling on this thread like it’s a marlin. Even if it is a lie. “Of course, he did. Why wouldn’t he? I’m his wife.”
Great, Kennedy. You just lied to a man of the cloth. Exactly how many Hail Marys do I need to avoid burning in hell for all eternity?
He stays silent, and our tense little walk stretches on, him lost in thought, me on the verge of shoving my hand down his throat and ripping every last secret from his chest. I mean, if I’m already going to hell anyway.
“You could at least give me a hint,” I mumble under my breath.
“A hint?” He considers it, his steps slowing to a stop. He glances at me, then down at the truffles underfoot. Truffles sneezes at him.
Then, as if by some divine intervention, a glimmer sparks in his dark brown eyes. His smile broadens so wide that I finally get why priest romance is a thing.
“Well, you’re staying with a friend , right?”
“Right.” I’m not sure where this is going .
“Sometimes the answers we seek are right in front of our face.”
“Knox?”
He lowers his voice, leaning in. “More like his desk.” He winks and walks ahead, smiling like the cat who swallowed three canaries.
I rush to catch up, bewildered. “Hang on. I never mentioned the friend I’m staying with was Knox.”
A knowing smile plays on his lips. “It’s like you said, Kennedy. I take confessions from everyone. And yes, business is indeed booming.”