Page 8 of Lucian

“But it is now?” she asked quietly.

Lucian shrugged. “I’m curious, I guess.”

“Ragazzo dolce,” Cecelia said, half chiding, half soothing. Sweet boy, she called him. It was a tender term she used for all her sons when they were younger. “So you could be whoever you wanted to be. You could still be little Luciano, if you wanted, or someone new. It was your fresh start in one tiny step. The ability to keep the memory of your mother and father, while having a new pair to love, or let them go altogether. The last name, though, was for your own benefit.”

“I’m a Marcello.”

Cecelia’s hand patted his knee as she winked. “That you are.”

Standing, Cecelia straightened out the bottom of her dress. “Now, go to confession.”

Lucian had her there. “Confession is scheduled before Mass, and on Saturday mornings. Never after Mass. Next Sunday, okay?”

It was easier for him to simply divert the topic of going to confession rather than actually outright tell Cecelia he hadn’t gone in years. After all, confession was meant for those who intended to confess all of their sins, and genuinely desired not to commit them again. Lucian couldn’t say that for himself and honestly mean it.

“Father Peter is making an exception for you as a favor to your father and me, dear.”

Of course he was, Lucian thought, scowling.

Cecelia smiled that knowing smile only a mother could have. “He mentioned last week it’d been a while since he last spoke to you. That’s not acceptable, Lucian.”

Goddammit.

“Merda, Mamma—”

“That mouth, I swear. Not in church. No more stalling, it’s been too long. Go, please.”

Again, arguing was obviously not going to work with his mother.

Clearly this was not a request he was going to get out of with semantics and deflections. The Marcello matriarch always did have her ways of getting what she wanted. Conceding to his mother’s demand, Lucian gave a short nod before dropping a kiss to her cheek. “Fine. I’ll be back at the house for dinner.”

“See you then. And, Lucian?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you don’t trust outsiders easily, but be honest in your confessions. It’s the only time you truly can be just who you are with someone beyond your father and brothers that will listen and understand the good that sometimes gets covered by all the bad. For now, anyway.”

For now?

Lucian didn’t get the chance to ask his mother what she meant by that. Cecelia had already turned and was leaving down the long aisle. The church was practically cleared out of parishioners, but for a few stragglers towards the back. Apparently he wasn’t the only one wanting to make a beeline out of the old building as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, Lucian was well aware that wasn’t going to happen today. Confession could take a while, especially if done correctly, and as his mother mentioned, honestly. Penance could be even longer. He was dreading that, too, though he wasn’t sure which one he disliked more.

So, just knowing that made Lucian take the long trek to the confessional a little slower. He distinctly remembered the first time he’d gone to confession because his mother demanded it. It was the Saturday morning following his eighteenth birthday. Antony allowed the Marcello boys to throw a massive party—something they were famous for—at their mansion style home in the gated community of Tuxedo Park in Orange County, New York with the bare minimum of parental supervision.

It wasn’t the party that had gone bad that Friday night, but the morning after. Cecelia happened upon a stash of Lucian’s usual things. Weed, condoms, and the like. She hadn’t been impressed, to say the least. But hell, he was eighteen, and at that point, readying to move into his apartment in Manhattan. He was terribly careful about keeping his things out of his mother’s sight, but that night had been wild and the morning after left him in something of a stupor.

Cecelia was more concerned over the condoms than anything else.

He still remembered her questioning, too. All the while Antony sat off to the side, smirking in his usual smug way. It wasn’t like his father didn’t know the kinds of things his sons were doing behind closed doors. His two brothers, on the other hand, laughed their still drunk asses off outside the office door.

“Is this the first time you’ve … well, you know, or has it been happening for a while?” his mother had asked. “Do you love this girl? Are you always safe?”

Lucian had tried, really, really tried, not to laugh, but his muddled up mind didn’t cooperate. His answers had been pretty damned simple. “No, it’s been happening since I was fourteen. Girls, and absolutely not,” he’d corrected for the second answer. “But, yes, I’m always safe.”

Those were not the answers his mother wanted to hear, except for maybe the last one. Cecelia then proceeded to take him to confession that very morning. It was a great way to spend the morning after his birthday while still dealing with a massive hangover.

Not.