Page 14 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

“What do you know for sure you do believe in?” I ask.

“Sin.”

I arch a brow. “I guess that answer doesn’t surprise me.”

He huffs. “It shouldn’t.”

“I believe in sin, too,” I say. “Not so sure about forgiveness, though.”

“No? Suffering only?”

“It’s what it feels like sometimes,” I say quietly, turning back to the window as we pass a fountain I’ve seen in movies. “What fountain is that?”

“The Tritons? I think? We’ll be in the Piazza Navonna. All the best fountains are there.”

I laugh. “Is that right?”

“You’ll see.”

“You have a favorite spot here?”

“Yeah. My hotel.”

That makes me smile again. “But you have two hotels here.”

“I have a favorite. And thank you for doing your homework. Does this mean you’ll take the job?”

“Let me pray on it tomorrow, and I’ll let you know Monday.”

He laughs at my tasteless joke. The sound is full-throated and rich. It’s an amazing sound, and one I realize I’ve never heard before. I like it. The nerves from this morning are gone. Clearing the air about my father helped.

“Can I do anything to help you see what you want to see?” he asks. “Private tour? Anything like that?”

“I’ve got Trip Advisor and a map app. I think I’ll be okay,” I tell him. “But I appreciate the offer.”

“The Sistine Chapel for example. I could get you in there on your own so you wouldn’t have to be in a huge tour group.”

“You can do that?”

“Honestly, there’s not much I can’t do,” he says, and amazingly, he manages not to sound like an asshole.

“I’d be pretty stupid to turn down an offer like that.”

“Not if you have a problem with once in a lifetime opportunities.”

“Do you know the Pope or something?” I ask.

“No. But I know people who know people who do. Anyway, the Pope doesn’t have much to do with it. The whole world turns on money and favors.”

“That’s cynical.”

“It’s disappointing isn’t it? We’re raised to think love and kindness are all that matters, but what really gets things done is manipulation and leverage. Pressure and money.”

“That’s your world, huh?”

“That’s the world.”

“Not mine,” I say quietly as we pass another amazing fountain, and the traffic slows to a crawl. “Is all of Italy like this?”

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