Page 92 of Broken

Andrea couldn’t have rammed that truth home to me more.

I don’t say a word, merely let him carry on digging his own grave as he reveals just under a year’s worth of sins in a handful of minutes.

“Things got out of hand last night,” he eventually shares.

He’s mentioned fucking around on his wife and what sounds like some kind of art theft, but the way his voice deepens tells me this is the real reason for his presence—he killed someone.

“They tried to break into my place. Couldn’t allow that. Had to send a message.Capisce?” He clears his throat again. “You know Remo’s, don’t you, Father? Over by Piazza del Popolo?”

What did he want? A review on Tripadvisor?

I grunt. “Si, I know it.”

“Come in later. I’ll make sure you eat well.”

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth because that invitation might serve a purpose, I murmur, “Thank you, my child.”

Because I took the ‘bribe,’ I can hear him soften up. All is back to being right in his world.

He didn’t know how to handle someone who wasn’t waiting on his every word, but now that I’ve taken that particular offer, I know he thinks I’ll be open to more.

Some priests do this.

I never have.

Rubbing my bottom lip between my fingers, I murmur, “Continue.”

“Bene, last night, there was a situation. I ended up pulling my weapon and a few people got killed. They shouldn’t have comeinto my territory though.” His attempt at justification has me rolling my eyes. “I had to protect my turf.”

“How many died?”

“Six.”

I crack my knuckles. “All their blood is on your hands?”

“Si,” he mutters grimly. “It was a bad night.”

“Your grunts aren’t here. Nor have I seen them today. Was it all you?”

Silence.

I take that as a yes.

Which, not unsurprisingly, means he gave me the cliff notes of a confession.

Because I can’t stand to be near this bastard anymore, I mutter, “Three Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys are what I ask of you today.”

“Really?”

That he sounds cheerful tells me I’ve gone too easy on him. I won’t forever.

I endure sharing the same oxygen as him as I suffer through the prayer of absolution. “Give thanks to the Lord for He is good.”

“His mercy endures forever.”

Ordinarily, I’d conclude this interminable conversation by saying, “Your sins are forgiven, my child. Go in peace.” But I don’t.

He sits there.

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