Chapter 3 - Garrett
Iheard the commotion from around the corner as Brother Lucas and I emerged from his favorite cafe after a post-lunch coffee. I wasn’t used to drinking espresso after noon, and I could already feel the caffeine working its way through my blood, making me feel more alert and twitchier than normal.
"Is coffee in the afternoon a common thing here?"
He chuckled. "Coffee after dinner is a common thing here. You’re going to have to improve your tolerance."
My lips turned down in a frown. "How do people sleep?"
"We don’t." By now, he had also noticed the noise coming from the nearby piazza, and he turned us towards it neatly, barely breaking stride as he cut in front of a crowd of lost-looking tourists. I heard them mumbling commentary about our black robes as we moved swiftly away from them.
"Are they priests?" one whispered.
"They don’t have collars."
"Maybe deacons? Or, what’s the thing from that murder movie? A morningstar?"
"A monsignor," another corrected, and the group devolved into giggles.
Not for the first time, I felt grateful for the overabundance of Catholicism in Rossaia, and in Italy in general. While the Fratelli might be Catholic-adjacent, and were certainly founded hand in hand with both monks and priests alike, we were certainly not chaste.
Not that many priests I’d met were. But we didn’t maintain the pretense of virginity.
Back home, I don’t think I would have been able to exist confidently in a world where I had to dress like… this.
Flowing black robes with red-trimmed sleeves and collars, even in the hottest part of the summer. Shiny black shoes that I learned I was contractually obligated to keep scuff-free and neat. And hidden from sight, a nine-inch pristinely polished silver dagger.
Just in case.
But here, because religious attire was not uncommon to see moving through the maze of the city, most residents barely blinked twice at us.
I’d been warned that tourists might ask us to take pictures, a fact that still baffled me, even if I had yet to experience it.
But that was more from curiosity than mockery.
And contrary to how I might have expected, the ostentatious nature of my now-everyday clothes made me feel more invisible than I did in Chicago. There are many ways to blend into a crowd. But intentionally standing out from one in a city like this was the easiest and surest method.
The temperature grew slightly warmer as we moved through the shadows of the narrow street towards the piazza. The sun was high in the sky, and as we got closer, I scanned the crowds for the source of the commotion.
When we finally stepped into the light, the heat beat down on my shoulders.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the sudden influx of bright sunlight, but when they finally did, the cause of the noise became immediately clear.
A crowd had formed around the piazza’s central fountain.
And while this wasn’t uncommon—the fountain was one of the primary tourist stops in the city—the clear anger and frustration pouring from the assembled crowd made my skin prickle, even in the stifling heat.
I glanced sideways at Brother Lucas. He, in turn, raised his eyebrows and nodded once, and the two of us strode forward with added purpose. As we walked, I scanned the square for any sign of police, but there was none to be seen.
Typical.
The closer we got to the fountain, the more I was able to distinguish individual voices and words from the general commotion.
Inappropriate.
Grotesque.
Rude.
Fucking hilarious.
Lucas and I reached the back of the crowd at the same time, each of us choosing different paths to snake through towards the center.
The heat seemed to multiply once I was surrounded by bodies, and I found myself unable to take full breaths.
The anger around me was palpable, and my nerves at confronting whatever I was about to find only increased my anxiety.
When I finally broke through to the front of the crowd, I took a deep, desperate breath, as if I’d been swimming through dangerous waters instead of simply winding my way through a mob.
That’s when I saw him.
My first reaction to the spectacle was merely incredulous. This is what had drawn such a rowdy response?
Then, as I watched the smug look on the man’s face groping the bare breast of one of the mermaid statues, as I surveyed the water stains on the hem of his otherwise pristine shorts and stared at his bare feet trampling along the coins coating the bottom of the fountain, I understood the crowd’s indignancy.
The man was clearly American, as was the group of friends filming him from the sidelines.
Based on their clothing and hairstyles, I judged them to be from the Northeast, probably Ivy League students or recent graduates, in Italy on a summer vacation, far more interested in being able to say that they’d spent a summer in Europe than in any cultural knowledge that might stem from the experience.
They reminded me of dozens of my former classmates and contemporaries, men who’d smile to your face, then sell you out for a networking opportunity.
And when I looked at the blank, still face of the mermaid beside him, the ancient beauty that had stood sentinel over this place for centuries, I felt some sort of long-forgotten anger begin to bubble over in my blood.
"Hey!" I shouted. Unfortunately, my voice was not as steady as my anger would prefer, and my voice was lost among those of the assembled crowd.
Across from me, I saw Lucas emerge as well. He rolled his eyes when he saw the man, then quickly caught my eye, once again nodding at me to follow my instincts.
We weren’t police, but because of our clothing, people tended to treat us as authority figures. I could only hope that these men were stupid enough to do so as well.
"Hey!" I repeated, louder and more clearly this time. "That’s enough."
This time, it seemed that my voice did register with the man in the fountain. At first, he simply glanced towards me, head pivoting back towards his friends after a brief acknowledgment.
Then he did a double take. And his face broke into an even wider shit-eating grin.
"What the fuck?" he exclaimed through a laugh.
I knew it was the robes, but I didn’t care.
"I said, that’s enough." I stepped towards the fountain until my legs were touching its rim, trying my best to look towering and intimidating.
Lucas followed suit from the other side of the crowd.
Slowly, a still quiet fell upon the space like a ripple, the sounds of hushes and sssshhhhh moving backwards in a wave, sprinkled with whispered recognition.
It’s the Fratelli, a few voices explained. I kept my attention trained on the man in the fountain. His hand still hadn’t vacated the siren’s breast, and something about that fact made me somehow even more irrationally angry.
"It’s time to walk away," I said firmly, lowering my voice to reflect the newfound quiet.
The man’s smile stayed in place. "Who the hell is this guy?
" His head swiveled back and forth between his friends and me.
A couple of them had quietly put their phones away and were looking down at their feet as if chastised.
The rest kept filming, laughing at my perceived audacity as heartily as their obnoxious leader.
"He’s right," Lucas chimed in. Like marionettes, the men’s heads whipped towards him in unison. "It’s time to leave."
Maybe it was the robes. Maybe it was the sudden silence that had fallen around him.
But this time, the man’s confidence seemed to waver.
His Adam’s apple bobbed once with a deep swallow.
More of his friends slowly lowered the hands holding their phones, placing them surreptitiously into their pockets.
Unfortunately, his bravado didn’t take its cue from his brain.
"Who are you to tell me what to do?" the man shouted. But he finally, finally lowered his hand from the statue, and I felt the pull of tension leave my body, at least for a moment.
"It doesn’t matter who we are," Lucas answered, smirking in a cocky manner that reflected the man’s arrogance back at him. "We’re telling you to get the fuck out of here."
Something in Lucas’s voice seemed to make the air in the piazza shake. Low and calm, he evoked a silent threat like a promise. I took a mental note to ask him for lessons, because holy shit.
The next time the man spoke, he sounded far less confident. "And if I don’t?"
"We can involve the police if you’d like," I answered this time, watching with amusement as their heads once again moved in tandem to find me. "But that’s the easier option for you."
Then, casually, I moved my hands into the pockets of my black pants. Doing so necessitated pushing my robes behind my arms, so that my belt—and all of its attachments—was visible, just for a moment.
The movement had its desired effect. The man’s eyes caught on the gleaming reflection of my dagger, and his face paled. Across the way, Lucas’s smirk remained in place as he did the same, flashing the weapon for only half a second before it was shaded once again by his robes.
"What’ll it be?" I asked, tossing him a smile of my own. "I’m sure someone here will run to find the police on your behalf, if you’d like."
Slowly, and with more ego than I would have expected, the man finally began to retreat from the statue, shoving his hands into his pockets as he did so.
"Whatever, man," he scoffed as he waded through the shallow water. "I was going to leave anyway."
He hopped out of the water beside me and made no effort to prevent it from splashing onto my dark robes.
He didn’t apologize, and as he turned to walk back to his friends, smirk still firmly in place despite the pallor of panic twisting the corners of his lips, I reached out and grabbed his arm, just above his elbow, in a vise-like grip.
I reveled in his flinch and the small sound of fear that escaped his lips.
"I suggest you learn the history of the places you visit," I whispered, low enough for only him to hear. "A threat from the Fratelli is not idle. And you’d be wise to behave while you’re in our city.
" His frightened eyes found mine, the smirk finally falling from his face.
"You can’t do anything to me," he squeaked.
"Oh, but we can." I grinned. "Now run along like a good boy, and don’t let me catch you defiling this place again."
I released my grip on his arm just as he attempted to pull away from me, and the sudden absence of tension sent him toppling to the ground at my feet. Around us, the crowd chortled and cheered, snickering as he scrambled back to his feet and walked, fully shamed, back towards his friends.
Slowly, the crowd began to dissipate, and Lucas made his way back to me.
"‘Our city?’" He repeated back to me with a laugh once we were once again side-by-side. "Are we the mafia now?"
I shrugged. "It just sort of came out. Honestly, I was inspired by your deep, dangerous voice. Where did that come from?"
"Practice," he answered. "We have to deal with a surprising amount of assholes in this job. All we can do is look intimidating and project authority."
"Does this happen more or less often than doing our actual jobs?" I asked, lowering my voice so as not to draw even more attention our way.
"Unfortunately, situations like this are significantly more common," Lucas sighed. "You’ll fight rowdy tourists far more often than you’ll encounter any ancient monsters.
" He must have seen me deflate because he nudged me with an elbow and grinned.
"Don’t worry," he said. "Once you meet one, you’ll be grateful that the majority of your time is occupied by obnoxious Americans.
The alternative, while more satisfying, is far less fun. Trust me."
"How many have you… encountered?" I asked, lowering my voice even more.
Lucas’s lips curled up. "Americans? Are we including you?"
I shoved him. "No. Not Americans."
His playful smile fell quickly, as if pulled down by fishhooks. "Once," he answered solemnly. "And it wasn’t pretty. I mean, they’re all pretty. Like I said, they’re basically all beautiful women. But it wasn’t… a pleasant experience. Not everyone who faces them walks away. And I got very lucky."
He trailed off and stared ahead as we walked, and I took that as a sign that he was done speaking on the subject. It wasn’t long before we stepped out of the piazza into another narrow street, and I sighed as the shadows from the surrounding buildings pulled us into their cool embrace.
I never expected to feel so happy to escape the light.