“Boys,” Father says, rising to his feet. “Let’s get to church before your mother kicks it down and accuses me of corrupting you all.”
“Too late for that.” Marco smirks.
“How much more corrupt can we get?” Milo laughs.
Even Grandfather chuckles. “Now that’s the right kind of question.”
I follow them out, the weight of Monday already coiled in my fists. Finally, a fight.
I’ll think about it all day and then sit in church while planning how to ruin someone’s face.
As we walk out to the car, Marco and Milo join me, each taking his place at my side. “You have a lot of rage to get out, Monday night is going to be so good to watch.” Milo is the first to speak.
“Russians are big. He might land a good one, knock some sense into you.” Marco claps my back and climbs in.
I know Marco will stand next to me, but he also doesn’t agree with my fascination with Aoife, and is worried what it will bring out the family if word ever got out. I don’t blame him, you never want to be the reason for a war to start.
My parents started that war. I’ve heard the stories; Mother carried the guilt for years.
A fight might be what I need to feel, for the pull toward her to stop eating me up.
I sit in the pew,fingers curled on rosary beads. The cold spheres remind me: prayers won’t wash the blood from my hands.
Granddad stands at the altar, speaking, his voice echoing through the old cathedral. Every Sunday we’re here, for Mother, for him. A man of God, with a niece who is married to a mafia family, everything he’s against.
Milo leans close. “Pray all you want. No priest in the world is wiping away the enemy.”
My grip on the beads tightens, pressing my lips together to stop myself from telling him to fuck off.
Marco snickers, chiming in. “Was it worth it? She moan your name like a prayer, Matteo?”
I don’t respond, because yes she did, and I can’t stop hearing it.
The way it left her lips, desperate and breathless. The way her pulse beat beneath my hand as I held her neck. The way her body clenched around me like she was built just for me.
The way my name sounded when she said it in the dark. Seductive. Sinful.
I look at the crucifix as stained glass fractures the light. Will God forgive me? Should He? I already know. I’m not sorry.
I look over at the confession box, and wonder if saying it out loud would make the heaviness in my chest soften just a little.
As mass finishes, everyone starts getting up but I stay where I am. I know where they’re all going. To granddad’s house around back, for Sunday lunch.
I look down at my hands, as I move the beads between my fingers, and feel a movement next to me. Grandad. Leaning back, I turn to him, and smile.
“Matteo, something on your mind?” he asks. I laugh and stare at the cross.
“No, granddad. Just wanted a moment of peace from Marco and Milo.” I half lie, because I can’t tell him the truth, and Marco and Milo are starting to piss me off.
I glance over at the confession box again, and Granddad sees it. “You know Matteo, the three of you look the same, but very different. Marco laughs, jokes around, has fun and doesn’t care. Milo is his mother, smiles when he needs to, and will help whenhe needs to. And I’m sure there are other things, which you know better than me.”
I smile, because Granddad has said nice things about them, it’s a shame there are a lot more devilish things to say about them.
“But you Matteo, you hold everything in, you build up the rage and use your fists to let it out. You’ve always been like that.” Granddad smiles to himself. “You started punching the tree in the back when Marco cracked a code before you, it only has to be small for you to punch something.”
“He cheated, and you know he did.” I fight my case, which only makes him laugh.
“You keep telling yourself, but he won. Matteo, are you okay my son?” He asks again, and I turn to face him.
