Page 29 of Enforcer

That’s that, then, I guess.

There had been a palpable shift in her mood in the car ride over, and I don’t know what prompted it.

After the night and morning we had, I thought we made progress.

Or maybe that’s the entire problem.

She can’t handle how things went down with us. My admission that I don’t kiss yet love kissing her might’ve been the nail in the coffin of our no-strings-attached verbal contract.

It had only just begun, too.

On the way back home, I instructed the driver to drop me at St. Andrews Cathedral. I check my messages from Slate to make sure I don't have any current outstanding orders he needs me to carry out before I shut my phone off and talk to the priest.

I don’t, so I power my iPhone down and shove it inside the breast pocket of my suit jacket.

When the Suburban comes to a stop, I get out and look up at the massive church towering above as light wisps of rain brush my face.

“Here goes nothing,” I tell myself aloud, knowing this is going to be a tricky thing, walking back into a church I haven’t stepped foot inside sinceherfuneral.

“God, give me strength,” I mutter, bounding up the steps before opening the door.

It smells,as I remember, like warm incense and higher power. If you breathe deeply enough, you can almost smell the mints everyone sucks on to get through service when it’s running long.

I wander toward the confessional, knowing no one’s inside at this late hour, but stepping inside, nonetheless.

I sit and let the dim silence wash over me, clasping my shaky hands as the feelings I had last in this building flood me.

I don’t hear him enter, but his voice comes from the other side and startles me. “Would you like me to hear your confession?”

I sigh. I know it’s Luca, but I don’t want to ruin this moment I’ve waited so long for.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been years since my last confession. Hell, it’s been years since I stepped foot in this place. Sorry, Father,” I say when I realize I’ve cursed in such a holy place.

A chuckle comes from the other side of the screen. “It’s alright, Dante. Also, I don’t think God admonishes those of his children who hide away from pain. Grief strikes us to the marrow, especially when it blindsides us.”

Tears burn my eyes, and I tip my head back to fight them.

I’ve dealt with her death. At least, I thought I had.

“She’s been gone how long now?” Father Russo asks me.

“Eight years.” My throat burns as I let go of the tears and let them fall silently.

“Eight years without your love. It has to be hard. People say that watching the world go on is the hardest part. Thinking thatthey’re no longer with us to experience each thing we do. Not there to share things with or to hug.”

“I told her I’d move on, Father. I broke that promise to her. I fell into my grief and couldn’t swim my way back out to save my life,” I admit to him when I haven’t admitted it to anyone else before.

A sigh comes from the other side of the partition. “She understands. Have you come to confess a sin tonight?”

“I have.”

“Go ahead.” I hear Father Russo shifting as if he’s getting ready to bear the weight of whatever I’ll say next.

“I’ve moved on,” I say, confusing myself and the priest.

“Ah, and now your tears make so much more sense.”

I wipe them away, not understanding how he’d even heard them falling.

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