Page 55 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

Another uncle, his voice thick with wine, adds, “You went soft! The Devil in you made us strong. Have you prayed it away to leave us sheep?”

Angelottis have only ever respected one thing: Power.

I circle back to the front of the table, fingers already in my collar, popping the studs and pulling the cotton strip out. I fling it onto the table and unbutton my clerical shirt.

The effect is nuclear.

Every head lifts. Silence descends.

I strip off the shirt to reveal the war of ink on my skin, and then face the door leading inside. The Lady of Sorrows watches them. Her face is agony—my bloodline’s. Swords pierce her heart. Above her, the Archangel Michael’s wings span my shoulders, giving her hope.

Coiled through it all, the shadows writhe, poking their tiny devil horns out from beneath the ink.

This is what a god looks like in their world.

When I face them again, the men are frozen. The women have gone pale, even my mother. My father’s eyes are wet, but he’s hiding it behind rage and sorrow, glaring at the empty wine glass in his hand.

I pull on my shirt but leave it unbuttoned. If they need to see the tattoos as a reminder, then fine. A few more minutes won’t hurt.

“I haven’t forgotten what I am,” I say. “But you must trust me to finish this business with Paolo my way.”

Nonno swallows hard. “You’re the Judge again, then?”

“You’re coming home?” Nonna asks.

“No. I’m still a priest. But that doesn’t mean I’ve lost my bite.”

A ripple of nervous laughter breaks out and then abruptly stops. Eyes shift to somewhere behind me, and I spin.

My heart stops.

Mercy stands in the open doorway, out of the nun’s habit and in a blue silk dress. The cut is low over her breasts and tight over her hips. The skirt ends at her knees, but a split goes high enough that I see a shadow of her cilice wounds. Coppery, wild hair crowns her beautiful face, and the heels—Cristo! Where did she get those? They make her legs go on forever.

The whole table stares at her.

Me? My mouth is dry, I’m sweating, and my dick is hard. It twitches when I remember the toy in my pocket and how I plan to use it. How I’ll remind her she’s not this perfect thing my family loves to pretend they are.

She’s filthy, she’s sexy, and she’s mine.

God help me, I want to see her moan from pleasure. I want to feed her so full of my cum that she never doubts I am hers.

I’m thinking of all of these things at once. All she does is tilt her head and say in Italian, “I hope this outfit is okay. You all seem so dressed up.”

The men nod rapidly. The women murmur and whisper, but they say nothing bad. Mercy wears a similar cut to a cousin’s dress I saw tonight. She just makes everything look indecent.

Enzo blurts, “I thought you were a nun!”

I almost choke. “She’s not a normal nun. Just like I’m not a normal priest.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then conversation picks up again. Aunt Rosa bustles up, rosy-cheeked and grinning from ear to ear.

“Let’s get you something to eat. You’re both far too skinny.” Without breaking eye contact with Mercy, she barks over her shoulder. “Vincenzo! Two plates!”

Enzo’s name is shouted next, but he’s already pulled out a chair beside an empty one, which I assume is mine. It better be mine. I glower at Enzo, just in case he’s thinking about taking it for himself. Mercy glides to the table and sits to my left, crossing her legs. Every eye tracks her.

As I sit, I watch everyone’s faces fill with cautious respect mixed with curiosity. Mercy keeps them guessing, just the way we like.

If I were to return home and take up the mantle, to become the Don officially, I would be filled with pride right now. She is the most beautiful thing in Rome, and she’s sitting next to me.