Page 44 of No Stone Unturned

Slash gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to shout at the man he considered his father. How much more didn’t he know about his own life? “I don’t need your protection or adjustments any longer. I need answers. Who brought me to you?”

Misery swamped the priest’s face. “You were brought to the church by someone who couldn’t keep you. Why does it matter now?”

“I’m not sure.” Slash studied him for a longer time, wondering if he even really knew this man. “You say you’re not my biological father, but do you know who is?”

Father Armando held up a hand. “Please. Let’s not go down this road.”

“We should have gone down it a long time ago.” Slash’s voice came out much harder than he intended. Feelings of betrayal were swamping him, hurting him.

“I don’t understand.” Father Armando was pleading now. “Why do you want to drag out the past? It won’t change anything. It is what it is.”

“So, why does everyone want to hide my past from me? I want the truth, Emilio. That’s all I want. That shouldn’t be too much to ask from you. Not from you. Never from you.” His voice broke on the last word, and he hated that his emotions were so raw and close to the surface.

The priest spread his arms and shook his head. “Nicolo, I cannot say who brought you to the church. I am bound by my vows and by an important promise. I am deeply sorry, and I love you. If I could, I would tell you. You know that.”

He wasn’t surewhathe knew anymore. How the hell was it possible that in one hour, everything he thought he’d known about his birth had turned out to be a lie?

“I don’t know why I never thought to ask you directly before,” he said, his voice cool. “Maybe I wasn’t ready, or maybe I didn’t really want to know.”

“I promise you, a name would change nothing.” Father Armando’s voice broke a little, too.

“That not for you to decide, is it?” Slash said harshly. “Youliedto me.”

“You were a child,” Father Armando protested. “I was protecting you.”

Slash looked away, emotion choking him. “You could end this now, by telling me the truth.”

“That’s not fair,” the priest said emphatically. “You know better than anyone what I can and can’t divulge.”

“You said I was like a son to you. If that were true, you would tell me.”

“Youarea son to me,” Father Armando protested. “And I’ve been as honest as I can and still protect you. You have to believe me.”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore.” Slash held up a hand, stopping the father before he could say something else. “Please, don’t explain further or try to find me. I need time to think about this.” He headed for the door.

“Wait, Nicolo,” Father Armando pleaded. “Please don’t go like this. I beg you.”

Slash paused, then, without looking back, opened the apartment door and walked out into the night.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lexi

I was jet-lagged, had a stomachache and my teeth felt as though something fuzzy was growing on them as the taxi pulled up in front of an enormous stone church. I turned my phone around for the taxi driver to see and pointed to the address.

“Cathedral of San Lorenzo?”

“Si.” The taxi driver pointed vigorously at the church.

I peered out the open window in the blinding sun at the Romanesque structure. The façade was made of black-and-white stripes of marble with three arched entrances, the one in the middle larger than the others. Each entrance had towering double doors. Two stone lions guarded the church front on the opposing banisters of the stone staircase. My research had indicated the Cathedral of San Lorenzo was the seat of Father Emilio Armando, Archbishop of Genoa, and exactly the person I’d come to see. Whether he’d agree to see me was the tricky part, because I wasn’t sure he knew who I was. But that wouldn’t stop me now. I’d flown over four thousand miles to see him, and I hated flying. I was on a mission.

“Okay.” I swiped my credit card in the taxi’s machine, and virtually signed on the dotted line, adding a decent tip. “Grazie.”

The taxi driver dipped his head at me. “Prego.”

I grabbed my backpack and laptop bag and climbed out. Tourists streamed in and out of the church. I fought my way through the crowd, trying to get to the entrance, but as I reached the main doors, someone in a suit blocked me and said something in Italian.

I shook my head. I’d been learning some Italian, but he spoke quickly, and I was too tired to understand it. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t catch that.”

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