Page 12 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
The Italian priest’s body language says he’s full of goodwill, but an unmistakable flash of wariness exists in the depths of his eyes. Fransisco Angelotti’s muscular body is carved not from hours in the gym, but from years of brutal physical activity. I know because I walked the same roads.
I recognize the scars on his knuckles, the muscular frame, and the hardness ingrained into his facial expression. While I don’t know his full story, I know his supernatural talent for sensing evil is what saved him from life in prison and brought him to the priesthood, much to the Italian mafia’s dismay. He was their best enforcer. Ever. And they paid him well. Like me, he was a god in his world. I’m sure they intended to spring him out of prison, but the church came calling first.
I confided in him about my history with gun runners here in the States. He shared secrets of his time with the mafia—enough that I know he’s ashamed of what he’s done. He said he was absolved of his sins and that when he baptized me, he absolved me too.
It can’t be as easy as that, can it?
I slide my hand into my pocket. My fingers graze the smooth rosary beads. Temptation comes in all shapes and sizes. Anger. Violence. Sex. Addiction. Each is a gateway to another, and after I thought Leila was dead, my life was a miserable never-ending cycle of God’s punishment—until this team showed me another way to focus my energy.
Love had no place in my damned life. I existed purely to serve as a tool in this holy war against the dark forces that claimed my sister and taunted Leila. But now that I see her all grown up and the sole reason my heart exists, I know I’ll either come out of this in Heaven or Hell. There is no in-between.
The wooden seat creaks under Dominic’s weight as he sits behind me. His warm brown eyes hold more forgiveness than the priest’s as he takes me in. Sometimes I wonder if any crime is bad enough to wipe that look from his face. Sometimes I want to try and test it.
Wes adjusts his spectacles and says, “We have a confession.”
“Si.I must get my purple stole,” Cisco replies. “You are both overdue.”
Wesley gestures for the priest to return. “I think, perhaps, Dom needs to hear this too.”
The determination in Wesley’s eyes makes me nervous. He’s going to try and accept the blame—I can feel it. I can’t let him, so I take over the confession... sort of.
“I asked Wes to use his connections at the Vatican to bring us here. I’d heard a rumor about a prophecy and a healing relic that only Sinners could...”
My voice trails off under our priest’s disapproving glare. He continues to wipe spilled sacramental oil from his hands with a cloth. It’s hard not to imagine him as an enforcer cleaning himself after a bloody crime. I suspect that hard look is all repenting parishioners need to reveal their darkest secrets.
He knows I’m lying.
“Mate,” Wesley says to me. “I appreciate your effort, but you didn’tmakeme do anything. And I came to you with the idea.” To the others, he adds, “A while back, I found a passage in an old, discredited prophecy about holy relics and Sinners and Saints—you know that now as Mary Magdalene’s lost gospel. When word came of a secret society of Sinners, I felt the prophecy might be real. The fact I learned this about the time Zeke revealed he was sick felt like fate. We’re here today because I manipulated events so that we’d be the team sent to dismantle the Sisterhood... and, in doing so, be in a prime position to use that relic on Zeke before Thea could use it on Prue. As you know, events worked out better than anyone anticipated. I trusted Thea, and she’s the right person to hold the power.”
“You lied to us,” Dom states, his brow furrowing.
Wes nods. I glance at the crucifix on the wall behind the wooden altar, then nod too.
Cisco exhales and sits on the sanctuary steps. He closes his eyes and asks, “Why?”
“We didn’t think you’d approve,” Wes replies. “And that you’d stop us.”
That they’d tattle to the Holy See’s agents about our plans. I never believed the Entity—their secret service—existed until Wes revealed a few insider stories. On the surface, the Vatican’s espionage team includes priests, cardinals, and bishops... not that they’d admit it. But if the papacy faces danger, it is swiftly and mysteriously eradicated. Whoever they are, they’re well-funded, shrouded in secrecy, and have untold power.
“Did you know before you joined our team?” Dom asks me.
“No. I joined because I was running from the life I had. I needed an outlet for my urges, and you not only gave it to me, but I felt like I finally had a purpose for it—hunting demons. I mean, I started to hunt demons, and then...” I frown, still unwilling to share details about Leila with the rest of the team. “I guess I went off the rails.”
“He wasn’t sick until after he joined,” Wes pointed out.
“Si.” Dom nodded, remembering.
“I’m sorry we kept it from you.” Wesley’s eyes are full of sincerity. “And I’m sorry I didn’t give you the heads up about what was inside the gospel, should it be proven authentic. I know this alternate version of history will take time to wrap your heads around, but you can’t deny that miracles have come from it.”
Jinx unfurls herself from my shoulders and drops behind me to climb onto Dominic’s lap. His eyes widen at the ex-demon. Then his big hand lands on Jinx’s head, engulfing the skull. He strokes until the creature is calm.
“No, we can’t deny miracles have happened,” Cisco agrees, then gestures to my shirt. “You were healed too, yes?”
I nod.
“Show me.”
“My wounds were mainly on the inside.” The fighting scars I have are gone, but they were old.
