“You.”
“What?”
Father De Vecchi cocked his head, his eyes roving over my face. “You feel like he’s running away from you.”
I opened my mouth, about to issue a denial, but something in Father De Vecchi’s eyes had me swallowing it down.
“You need to let him go, Alessio.”
I shook my head, refusing to hear what he was saying, refusing to acknowledge the truth. “I don’t know how.”
Father De Vecchi reached out and took hold of my arm. “Yes, you do.”
“No.” Tears rolled down my cheek freely now, the reality of what was happening tearing me apart from the inside out.
“He needs to do this and you need to let him.” Father De Vecchi moved in closer to me. “If you keep him from his calling, he’ll never forgive you.”
And there it was. The ever-present Catholic guilt.
Rafael will never forgive you, and neither will God. Your love isn’t enough to heal him, but God’s is, so you need to let him go.
“Alessio?”
“Iknow,” I finally bit out, a simmering anger beginning to bubble just under the surface. Then I sniffed back the tears and raised my head. “Don’t worry, your holy self—I know what I have to do.”
I pulled my arm free, and gave a final look to where Rafael had disappeared before turning back to Father De Vecchi.
“And I hate both youandyour God for that.”
EVEN ALL THESE years later, the wound was still fresh, like it had just happened. I’d built a life. A family. Together my brothers and I had all built a kingdom.
But I still missed the boy with the quiet curiosity who had the best laugh I’d ever heard.
I missed the person he’d been growing into, who had loved me, made plans with me, wanted a future with me. I hated the fact that I hadn’t had a choice in the matter, that Rafael had chosen his path out of fear and grief more than anything.
Did he regret it now? Because I was left with a lifetime of what-ifs. Was it the same for him? Tonight’s homily sure as hell hadn’t felt that way. He looked at what we had as wrong now, didn’t he? No sermon in the world could ever convince me what we had was a sin. I knew better.
Rafael was the love of my life.
And the loss of it.
18
RAFAEL
IPREPARED THE confessional the way I always did. It was a ritual for me, something that steadied me while waiting for Alessio and his brothers to arrive. Only now more than ever, I needed order to keep me focused, to help me stand against temptation.
Against Alessio.
It had been a week since I’d seen him at mass, and I’d spent more hours in prayer on my knees than I ever had in my life. I didn’t understand the urge I felt to find him and apologize. Apologize for what? The homily that had hit too close to home for us? At least, it had for me. But that was God’s way, giving you what you needed when you needed it, and I’d been trying to remember who I was every day since.
I set my Bible inside the confessional and wondered if I was worthy to be there tonight. It had never been an easy night for me anytime I was faced with Alessio and the men he was closest to now. It wasn’t just that they were all extremely powerful—and sometimes dangerous—it was that they were more a part of Alessio’s life now, taking up the spot where I’d been. I shouldn’t have felt resentful of that. I should’ve felt comforted that he hadpeople in his life that would protect him and be there for him that way.
Tell that to the sliver of jealousy that kept creeping into my brain. Yet another sin for me to pray away.
I heard the entrance to St. Andrews creak open, and suddenly my stomach exploded in a flutter of anxiety. It made my heart pound harder and faster, made my face feel like it was on fire.
Breathe,I told myself, and quickly recited Psalm 91:2.“This I declare about the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; He is my God, and I trust Him.”
