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My father smiles when Emilia reaches the pew. She knows something is up, and I think she guesses who he is. I step into the aisle for her to enter, placing one more barrier between him and her.
The organ booms, but I still hear my father order Janet to push his wheelchair toward us. Father Germain gives his final blessing, and the altar boys begin to walk down the aisle to the back of the church. They pass us, followed by Father Germain and more altar boys. The whole while, my father’s eyes are locked on Emilia. All I can do is wrap one of my hands around the back of her neck. Pull her closer.
Because my father is just as dangerous for her as I am.
Because this time, the girl is mine.9EmiliaI know the old man in the wheelchair is Giovanni’s father.
The church slowly empties. The priest and altar boys leave, and the organ music dies down. The parishioners begin to speak in hushed tones as they make their way out of the church. A baby cries. The mother walks quickly by, the child in her arms. The father and another, older child, follow them out. I do notice the glances we get by most, if not all.
Giovanni’s hand tightens possessively around the back of my neck as he steps out of the aisle, moving me with him. Vincent approaches but remains standing behind the old man and the woman I assume is his nurse. She looks anxious. More than anxious. But the man is grinning from ear to ear and tells the woman to push him forward. She’s reluctant, but a moment later, we meet in the aisle.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Giovanni asks, his tone curt.
The man in the chair looks up at Giovanni, his expression shifting, the smile fading into surprise. But I can see it’s an act.
“Watch your language. We’re in a holy place.”
“Since when have you cared about that? Since when do you come to Mass?”
The old man turns to me, a smile back on his face. I can see a slight resemblance, but not so much that I’d pick them out to be related if I didn’t already know.
“I came to meet Emilia.”
My name on his tongue sends a shiver down my spine. How does he know about me? “What?”
“I knew he’d never bring you to the house, so I thought I’d better pop in here. My son is quite predictable. He never misses Mass. But between you and me, if it’s redemption he seeks, I think he’ll be disappointed.” The old man extends his hand to me. “My dear, I’m Antonio Santa Maria, Giovanni’s father.”
I feel Giovanni fuming beside me. I’m not sure what to do. I extend my hand, but before it reaches the old man’s, Giovanni captures my wrist, stopping me. Without taking his eyes from the old man, he steps between us, keeping hold of my wrist, almost using his body as a barrier between me and his father.
“If you touch her, I will cut off your hand.”
The words make me gasp, but the old man doesn’t seem to be at all impacted. In fact, his grin widens. I see the hate between them. Father and son.
It makes me think of my father and brother. Life is so strange. It’s like things keep appearing, keep repeating. Like there’s one theme, and life keeps shoving it in your face.
Mr. Santa Maria puts his hand back on his lap. “Sadly, I believe you would.”
“Giovanni,” I start.
“Vincent,” he calls, cutting me off. Vincent arrives, and he hands me off to him. “Take her to the car. I’ll be out in a minute.”
I go, only because I don’t know what else to do. But the old man meets my eyes as I go and gives me a smile, an almost apologetic one. The door to the church closes but just before it does, I hear Giovanni’s voice. The threat in it makes me shudder.
A few minutes later, Giovanni appears. His face is unreadable as he walks toward the car. Vincent meets him a few steps away, says something and I see Giovanni’s gaze shift to another vehicle parked a little farther away in the lot. He changes direction. I watch as he stalks toward it, toward the man who steps out of the driver’s seat. He’s big, this guy. Almost as big as Giovanni. He closes the door and squares his shoulders, the look in his eyes hard as stone.
I open my door, but Vincent tells me to stay inside and closes it. He resumes watching the interaction between the men.
Giovanni goes right up to the man, there’s not a second of hesitation. The man says something and stands immobile beside the sedan with its dark-tinted windows. I wish I could hear what was being said. When I see Giovanni poke a finger in the guy’s chest and lean in close, I know he’s issuing a threat. My mind can’t help but wander to what he said to his father.
