Well, this lunch has completely gone to hell.
Róisín marches over to where she put her backpack down when she came in, yanking off the hoodie and letting her habit skirts down over her leggings. She pulls her wimple out of her bag and goes over to a nearby gilt-framed mirror to put it on.
“Ro,” I plead, going over to her, “we didn’t mean to upset you. We just—we really thought you might be able to help.”
Luca comes over as well, although after he speaks I wish he’d just kept his mouth shut. “It’s not just about Finch and Tara, or about the Morellis, or even about the IFF. If you hang on to that rosary, you’re only putting more people in danger, because the IFF will not stop until they have it. If you think holy orders will protect you—protect the women in that convent—you are sorely mistaken, Róisín.”
“If the IFF want it so badly, it must hold a lot of power,” Róisín says, looking at him in the mirror. “Why should it be any better that I give that power toyou, Don Morelli?” She turns away from the mirror and picks up her backpack, clearly ready to go.
“We want—wehope—to stabilize the environment in New York and Boston,” Luca says. “Our aim is to do good instead of evil.”
“A corrupt tree produces evil fruit.” She walks to the door.
“Then learn from what His Holiness said today,” Luca urges her, following her to the door, “and overcome evil with good.”
I’ve heard Aidan use the same tone often enough to know when biblical quotes are being thrown around. But what would only make me roll my eyes seems to have some effect on my sister. She pauses at the door, turns, and stares past me at Luca. “Even the devil can cite scripture for his purpose.”
“Yeah, well, better the devil you know than the one you don’t,” I quip before I can help myself.
Oops.
I don’t quite understand Róisín’s expression until I see her mouth quirking. Apparently my saintly sister still has her sense of humor after all. She unzips the front pocket of her backpack and fishes for something, holding it out to me. I reach out automatically to receive it.
“Please don’t contact me again,” she says, and leaves before I can even say goodbye.
But I’m too busy staring at what lies in my hand: the rosary.
Chapter Fifty
FINCH
“You Donovans certainly are stubborn,” Luca sighs, while I’m still staring at the rosary in my hands. “But at least your sisters respond to logic.”
“Do you see this?” I demand, shaking the rosary at him. “Shedidhave it with her. Shelied!”
“Yes. Not very well. And now we have it. Can we—”
“Hang on a minute,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. His last words have just hit me. “First up, I’m a D’Amato, and don’t you forget it. And second,Irespond to logic as well. I’m totally logical.”
“Oh, totally,” he says. “Come on, baby bird, let’s see what mysteries this particular rosary hides—and not merely the Catholic ones, hopefully.”
There’s part of me that wants to slow down, to talk about exactly what happened back there in St. Peter’s Square—because I know Luca’s still pissed I didn’t wait right where he told me—but if we have that conversation, we’ll also have to talk about Róisín’s final goodbye, presuming that’s what it was.
Don’t contact me againsounds pretty final, though.
I follow Luca back into the living room and we sit on the sofa together, side by side, close to each other. His thigh presses up against mine, warming me, and for once being this close to him doesn’t just make me want to jump him. I feel comforted, understood, as though Luca can tell I don’t want to talk about my family bullshit right now.
Although I still would totally jump him if he gave me any cues.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, Luca is fixated on the rosary right now. “May I?” he asks, putting his hand over mine, where the crucifix of the rosary lies in my palm. Róisín was right; it’s pretty big compared to the more delicate rosary I see Aidan carrying around with him, and heavier than it looks.
“Sure,” I say. “You’re more likely to recognize anything weird about it than I am.” It must be almost two decades since I last held a rosary. Frankly, I’m surprised it didn’t fall into ash as soon as I touched it.
Luca lifts it gingerly from my hands, although I’m not sure why he’s being so careful. It’s not like it’ll break. This thing is heavy duty.
“It’s not wood or a precious metal,” he says, almost to himself. He’s turning the crucifix over in his fingers, and then lets the beads of the rosary itself run through them. “Beads seem to be glass. Agreed?”
“Yeah,” I say, flicking one with a fingernail. “Ow.”
