Page 81 of Dreadful
It didn’t matter to me. Yanking them up was just as therapeutic as planting them. It was the perfect activity to get out the anger I had toward everyone, even sweet and soft Antonella. She was the bright spot in my day, but I despised her for not helping me run away. Now that I’m an adult, I realize I was just like her garden. Despite risking Claudio’s wrath, she did all that she could to protect me.
The priest did not.
When Claudio took me to confession that first time, I thought all my prayers would be answered. I didn’t hold back as I told Father Lucas everything, hoping he would save me. I told him the driver murdered my parents. I told him I was kidnapped. And I told him the judge drugged and violated me every night he visited. His response still shocks me every time I remember it.
“Thou shalt not lie.”
It’s the ninth commandment, the first lesson the priest taught me, and the phrase that haunts me the most. Before every confession, I was instructed to say, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” even though I was the innocent one. At the end of every session, he ordered me to repent for lying.
Claudio wanted the priest to convince me I’d made it all up. My parents had died in a tragic car accident. The capo saved me from the foster system when he brought me back to the Vincellis. Claudio was merely a disciplinarian, while I was ungrateful and spoiled. And the judge? Only a whore and a sinner could think those vile acts, let alone say them out loud.
After my first confession, Antonella cried as she locked me back in the room, and I created my list. The priest made one of the top spots. One could argue that he might’ve deserved a lower position, but even as a child, I knew there is an evil in gaslighting that can be worse than the act itself.
It makes you question your trauma. The body and soul remember, and yet your mind questions it, all because someone else’s words weaved into your memories and tore them apart. The priest said that I would go to hell for spreading lies. But in that house, I felt like I was already there, and the wrongs that happened to me there were made worse by the fact that every time I was forced to confess, I was called a liar.
That’s why the priest made my list. Anyone who tries to make someone question their reality doesn’t deserve to have one of their own.
And while I stand here in front of St. Catherine’s, I know for a fact that I’m meant to be here to right the wrongs of the corrupt man inside.
He’s not technically next on my list since I still haven’t caught the capo. I’m hoping my hunch is correct, though, and he’s already been taken care of. If I am right, I’m disappointed that I didn’t get my hands on him, but at least he’s gone from this world and unable to hurt anyone else.
The capo isn’t my only mystery. I still have no idea what to do about Sever. He was right when he said we had a connection last night. We did, and it fucking terrified me. But then he left right after mynonno—
My chest pangs, and I suck in a sharp breath.
No, I can’t think about all of that right now. I have to stay focused on what will bring me, Gio, and Tony justice, and that means marking off the rest of my list. The names I have left are high profile, and taking them down means I’m playing with fire. Then again, I’m going to hell for what I’m about to do in God’s house, anyway. I might as well get burned on the way down.
Warm air smacks into me as I push open the church’s imposing double doors. Once they slam shut behind me, I hang my jacket on a coat rack and step toward the worship area. Inside is more stunning than I remember, with gold and silver filigree glittering everywhere you look. The pews are empty, giving me an eerie sense ofdéjà vu. Claudio always locked the church down during his confessions to protect himself from nosy churchgoers. He refused to confess anywhere but the church, though more out of superstition than religion, if I had to guess.
My fingers dip into the font of holy water and cross myself out of a long-forgotten habit. An overwhelming sense of stifling hatred and confusion flows through my veins as I take in my surroundings.
I’ve always desperately wanted something bigger than myself to believe in, a hope to cling to when things get unbearably hard. Maybe one day I’ll find that, but it won’t be here, and it won’t be now. I never learned about the love of God in this building, only the failings of men.
I shake my head free of the anger clouding it. If I’m going to get this right, then I need to be at my best, and my mind needs to be clear.
As I stalk toward Father Lucas’s office, my chef’s knife burns against my thigh in the pocket of the nun’s habit I designed. Once I’m outside his door, I take a deep breath and look around. I’m still alone, but I don’t know whether anyone is hanging out in the rest of the church. Whatever happens inside the office will have to be quick and quiet, or I could be found out before I flee past the first pew.
I slip one hand into my pocket to grip the knife’s pearl handle, while I knock on the wooden door with my other. Every muscle in my body goes stiff as I wait. But there’s nothing.
Panic slices down my spine, and I look around again before knocking.
Silence.
“Cazzo.”
He didn’t already go home, did he? His Porsche is still in the church’s small employee parking lot. Maybe if I wait in his office…
Resolved to do just that, I twist the handle of the door, hoping I’ll be lucky just this once. It turns easily, and the fist around my lungs loosens. I sneak inside and gently close the door behind me.
There aren’t very many places to hide, but everywhere I look, there’s evidence that confirms my suspicions about his relationship with Claudio and men like him. Inside a large wardrobe, Father Lucas’s robes conceal a flat screen TV. At the bottom of the cabinet is a row of name-brand shoes, and on a shelf is a brand-new cell phone. The shiniest computer money can buy takes up the entire desk beside the window, and a gold Rolex rests by the mouse. If the priest’s fancy car wasn’t enough to convince me that he’s been bribed, everything in this room would do the trick.
My fingers hover over the Rolex. It’d be dumb to take it as a souvenir, but it sure is tempting. Movement outside flits twilight shadows across my hand, drawing my attention to the scene outside.
Even though it’s only late afternoon, thanks to Boston’s long winter nights, the sun already kisses the horizon, casting a rich purple and rose haze over all it touches. A late funeral is wrapping up in the graveyard, and people drift around the casket that’s still raised above an empty grave. They sniffle and console one another as they place beautiful white lilies on the black lid. One by one, the crowd thins, revealing just the person I wanted to see.
The priest.
His face is more weathered than it was fifteen years ago, and the age spots on his balding head have grown. He’s tall and lean, and his face has a look of compassion plastered on it as he awkwardly pats a grieving woman on the shoulder. Her loved ones gingerly pull her away and lead her out of the cemetery, leaving the priest all alone.
