Page 43 of No Stone Unturned

Slash picked up his glass again. He hadn’t realized how much this conversation would upset him, but it had. It shouldn’t even matter who was his father at this point in his life, but somehow it did.

It mattered a lot.

“I don’t know who is holding up Gio’s wedding,” he answered. “But my question remains on the table, Emilio. I need to know if you’re my father.”

A shadow fell over the priest’s face. “I don’t want to play this game. Don’t let Lazo drive a wedge between us.”

Slash curled his hands into fists, not because he was angry, but because they were shaking. He was on uneven ground right now, unsure of his judgment, confused by Father Armando’s evasion of the question, and hurting from the conflict in his heart regarding possible answers. He badly needed a shower, sleep and processing time to work through his emotions. But he needed answers more, so he pressed on.

“This is no longer about Lazo.” His voice sounded more strained than expected. “Please, Emilio, just tell me the truth. Are you my father or not?”

Another long silence ensued, the cars and the television set providing an uneasy soundtrack for their conversation. He didn’t know how much time had passed before Father Armando seemed to come to a decision. The priest straightened on the couch, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin.

“Just so we’re clear, this answer is for you, not Lazo. I want you to look at me when I say this, Nicolo, so you know I speak the truth.”

Slash met and held the gaze of the man he’d always trusted, a man he’d considered his father, whether they were related by blood or not. Emilio had been connected to him since birth. While he owed everything to the kind nurse who had become his mother, Father Armando had been an influential male figure in his teenage years, before his mother had remarried, and had served as his confidant and supporter during his time at the Vatican and for some of the most important moments of his life.

“Yes, you’re my son.” Father Armando spoke quietly. “In all ways except blood. You always have been my child. I may not be your biological father, but I love you as if you were my own, and I always will.”

The fist around his heart eased, releasing a flood of emotion so powerful he needed a moment to regain his composure. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to hear, but he felt enormous relief at the priest’s declaration because it meant this man he’d come to care greatly about wasn’t the same person who’d abandoned him at birth.

“Lazo said he has evidence you are my father,” Slash finally said.

“He has nothing.” Father Armando shook his head, a pensive expression on his face. “Because there’s nothing to be had.”

Slash nodded, satisfied with the answer. He was a trained interrogator and Father Armando spoke the truth. He could see it in his face, eyes and demeanor. “He’s trying to get my DNA. Presumably to link me to you, but perhaps for more nefarious reasons.”

“That’s truly despicable.”

Slash shoved his hand through his hair, still shaken by their conversation. “Still, something isn’t adding up for me about this. Lazo is focused on me for some reason.”

“He’s using you to get to me. I’m so sorry.”

Slash rose from his chair and went to stand beneath a picture of the Madonna and child. Was it more than just the Congo operation? What did Lazo know that he didn’t? Was there something else about his past that Lazo could use against him? He studied the picture of the Madonna for a long moment before turning to the priest. “Emilio, did you really find me beneath the organ at the church?”

Father Armando started so abruptly, he nearly dropped his glass of cognac. Guilt streaked across his face. He blinked a couple of times as if he hadn’t heard Slash right. “What did you ask?”

Pain lanced Slash’s heart. He already had his answer, but he steeled himself and pressed on anyway. “Because I’m trying to get to the truth about a great deal of things.”

Guilt and indecision played clearly on Emilio’s face, hurting Slash even more. But he said nothing and waited for an answer.

Father Armando spoke softly. “Why are these details so important after all this time?”

“I need to have all the information to make sure I make the right decisions.”

“What decisions?” The priest couldn’t keep the alarm from his voice.

Slash closed his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t. And yet, here he was, once again pitting himself against someone he loved. What waswrongwith him? He was bone-tired—emotionally, physically and mentally. Still, deep within him, a white-hot anger simmered and boiled against Lazo, the man who’d brought them all to this.

“I have reasons for asking what I do,” Slash said quietly. “Did you find me beneath the organ at the church?”

Sorrow flickered in Father Armando’s eyes. “No. But you often sat there in a basket at my feet. You were still a child when I told you that, not yet healed from your trauma. I thought it was the kindest, the softest way, to present it like that.”

So, he’d lied. Damn, that hurt. In a relationship that had always been strong and harmonious, this conversation had become excruciatingly painful for both of them. Still, Slash had to finish it.

“I was sixteen, Emilio.”

“Sixteen is still a child. I adjusted the truth to protect you.”

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