Page 77 of No Stone Unturned

“Unfortunately, he doesn’t speak English, so I’ll take it from here.”

“Sounds good to me.” I perched nervously on the couch and Slash took the seat beside me.

Manuel returned with a tray and three steaming mugs of coffee. I was grateful he brought plenty of cream and sugar, although neither man put a drop of anything in their coffee before drinking it. That worked in my favor because the coffee was so strong I used all of the cream and most of the sugar to make it palatable. It was a bit awkward holding the cup with my bandaged hands, but I did my best.

While Slash and Manuel spoke, I studied the former acolyte to see if I could see any resemblance between him and Slash. Hard to tell. They were both exceptionally handsome with dark hair, brown eyes, and were roughly the same height. So were a million other Italian men. That, of course, meant I had insufficient data to determine paternity.

At one point, Manuel spoke rapidly, sounding completely shocked. I looked at Slash, but he remained calm and continued to speak. This went on for several minutes where Slash would say something, and Manuel would look more and more in disbelief. I was dying to know what was going on but didn’t want to interrupt.

Slash finally turned to fill me in. “I asked him if he remembered the baby boy brought in during the great storm.”

“Did he?”

“He did, and I told him I was that baby.”

“And?” My heart skipped a beat.

“He said I was the reason he left the priesthood.”

I almost dropped the coffee mug. Luckily I caught it and placed it gingerly on the table. Manuel was watching me curiously. Guess it was his turn to figure out what we were saying. “Why were you the reason he left the priesthood?”

Slash shrugged. “Apparently he connected with me. Well, with the baby. He said that seeing me for those three days at the church made him realize he didn’t want to be celibate all his life. He wanted children—a wife and a family. So, he returned to Rome and left the priesthood. He married a few years later. After a long time of he and his wife trying to conceive, he discovered he couldn’t have children of his own. His wife didn’t want to adopt, so she divorced him. He’s been alone ever since. He believes this is his penance for betraying God.”

“Oh, no,” I murmured. Running through my head was the theory of the Butterfly Effect—the concept that the smallest of events can have nonlinear impacts on a complex world. The theory concluded that a butterfly flapping its wings could serve as a part of an interconnected catalyst that could start a typhoon. Slash was the catalyst here. He was born, brought to the church in San Mauro, and so many lives had been affected as a result, mine included.

“I’m sorry for him. What a painful thing to have endured.” I lowered my eyes to my coffee cup because I didn’t want Manuel to see the pity and sadness in my eyes.

It was an unfortunate set of circumstances for all of us involved, but especially the two of them. Manuel, because his life had been so dramatically changed by one decision, and for Slash because it meant the hunt for his father was still on. Italsomeant Slash would now add it to the long list of what he perceived were his transgressions against others, regardless of how ridiculous it was to blame himself for being an abandoned baby.

“That’s not all,” Slash said. “There’s more.”

I looked up, puzzled. “What more can there be?”

“He remembers the night I was brought in. The night of the storm. He said he was there, in the church, praying in a corner. He thinks no one knew he was there.”

My eyes widened. “Did he see who brought in the baby?”

“He did. It was a woman, holding the infant in her arms. Father Armando came out, as if he’d been waiting for her. They talked for at least ten minutes. This wasn’t a simple abandonment.”

I took a moment to digest that huge revelation. “Did he recognize the woman?”

“Unfortunately, no. He says she was young with long brown hair. She spoke with Father Armando for some time before she left.”

“Did he overhear anything of the conversation?”

“He did. He heard it all. Voices echo in an empty church. However, he didn’t understand any of it.”

“Why not?” The hurt in Slash’s voice was starting to really worry me.

“Because they were speaking English.”

Chapter Forty-One

Slash

“What?” Lexi blurted out.

He wondered if his shocked expression mirrored hers. “The woman spoke English?” she asked.

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