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“I enjoy things I shouldn’t,” I confess with a shiver.
Through the grille of the mahogany booth, Father Ryan takes a deep breath. Typically, he offers forgiveness more readily than Father Naughton, allowing more leniency for human fallibility, and assigning fewer Our Fathers and Hail Marys as penance.
I’m not sure it’s a good thing. Especially not with this shift I’ve started to feel within myself, this shift toward the lure of Liam’s world.
It’s a sin to enjoy anything you shouldn’t, Father Naughton would’ve responded in his sternest voice—a phrase of his that I know now must be filled with self-loathing.
“What is it you believe you shouldn’t enjoy?” Father Ryan asks me.
Making love with Liam. Shooting a gun. Keeping a secret between me and my “fiancé,” an arrangement that’s beginning to thrill me.
“Danger,” I say softly, and there’s a flutter in my stomach. “It’s…”
The assisting priest waits for me to finish my sentence, but I don’t. There’s something about enjoying the danger that makes it feel that much more sinful.
“Add five Our Fathers to your prayers.” Father Ryan doesn’t understand, but it’s not like I can describe the thrill of mafia life, even in confession.
I thank Father Ryan, and he bids me to go in peace. And just like every other time I’ve exited confession since Liam put this gorgeous ring on my finger, I don’t feel the relief I should.
* * *
When we get out of Mass, Liam goes to his office, leaving me with Gus for the day. I’m about to ask my guard to take me back to the high-rise when Cora calls.
She shocks me by offering to give me another driving lesson, on an automatic this time. I shock myself by accepting, my response based solely on the thrill I know will be involved.
Gus remains grumpy about the whole thing, shocking no one.
Cora’s right about driving an automatic after learning to drive stick. It’s incredibly easy. So easy that a part of me regrets not learning earlier. But that likely would’ve resulted in me getting a license. And driving illegally is half the fun.
I really enjoy things I shouldn’t.
“Slow down,” Gus says from the backseat.
“Don’t listen to him.” Cora’s wearing her bright red lipstick today, emphasizing her disapproval as she frowns back at Gus.
We’re out in Virgil Glen, just south of the city. The sky is midday gray, technically overcast but so bright it’ll make your eyes hurt if you look at it for too long. As I cruise down the two-lane road, the barren trees to either side bend beneath the strong wind. When they lean toward the road, they look like they’re reaching for our car, their branches trying to snag us in a trap. I nudge my right toe further down on the accelerator, imagining breaking loose from the trees’ grasp.
I feel free.
“This is what it’s about.” Cora grins at me from the passenger seat.
But for me, it’s not about going fast. The rush of driving like this isn’t literal, it’s—
Wee-oop. The noise comes from the cross street we just passed. In the rearview, I see flashing blue lights turn onto the road behind us, and the cop car toggles its siren again. Wee-oop.
“Motherfucker.” Gus leans over in the backseat like he’s pulling out his gun.
All of the blood drains from my face and pools in the pit of my stomach. I swallow hard as I glance over at Cora. She’s grimacing.
“Pull over,” she says. “We’ll talk our way out of it.” She sounds so confident, so steady as my hands shake on the steering wheel. To Gus, she says irritably, “Put that away and let me handle this.”
“We can’t risk—”
“Go word is cocksucker,” she snaps at him. It sounds like she’s calling Gus the filthy word, but as I pull us to the side of the road, I see her take her gun from her purse and hide it beneath her right thigh.
I’m suddenly freezing. Somehow my brain functions enough to slow down the car, and we bump to a stop on the pitted shoulder.
“I’ll do the talking.” Cora’s voice is pure venom. “Gus, take your fucking sunglasses off.”
