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“On the contrary, Vincenzo. You come here because you wish to find your faith again. You can’t fool God, either. He knows everything, and it’s okay, because He’ll forgive you. The question is whether you’re ready to be forgiven.”
He was quiet, turning back to the lit candle. “I am.”
“Then ask.”
Vincent took a deep breath before speaking again. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Father Alberto’s voice was gentle. “Go on. You’re safe here.”
The word safe made him hesitate again. For the first time since he was that young boy, walking into the church and believing he belonged, he felt like he was truly safe there.
“The first time I killed a man, I was eighteen. I shot him once in the heart with my revolver. He lost consciousness instantly, but it took exactly a minute and twenty-nine seconds for him to stop breathing. I counted. Seems so quick in retrospect, but while I watched it happen, it felt like he’d never die. And the whole time I stood there, all I could think was how wrong it seemed.”
“Wrong because you shouldn’t have killed him?”
“No, wrong because there wasn’t enough blood. Some seeped out onto his shirt, and his nose bled as he choked on a bit, but it was a relatively clean scene. He bled out internally. I thought a shot to the heart should’ve been messier.”
Father Alberto was silent for a moment. “Why did you kill him?”
“He raped my wife,” he said, his voice an octave above a whisper. “I was judge, jury, and executioner.”
“You didn’t think God would make him pay?”
“Yes,” he said. “I just made it so he’d face God sooner.”
“Why?”
Vincent’s brow furrowed. “I told you why.”
“You told me what this man did wrong, what sin he committed, but you didn’t tell me why you killed him. I remember you at eighteen. I married you and Maura at eighteen. You weren’t a vengeful person, and Maura wouldn’t have wanted you to do it.”
The priest was right, of course. “My father sanctioned it, called it my wedding present. I hadn’t wanted to, but it wasn’t open for negotiation. Permission to kill him was my first order, my first test. He thought he was doing me a favor.”
“What other favors did your father do for you?”
Vincent shook his head. “I don’t think there are enough hours in the day to tell you it all.”
“I have time,” the priest said. “Just as long as you’re finished by Sunday morning.”
Vincent laughed at that.
“Come on,” Father Alberto said, motioning toward the confessional. “We will do this right.”
The candle still flickered, and Vincent gazed at it before following him. The moment he sat down in the confessional, the words flooded from his lips. He spilled it all, every sinful thing he had done in his life—the men he had murdered, the places he had robbed, the people he had hurt. Every shameful act, every scornful word. Vincent didn’t stop until it was all out in the open.
“How do you feel?” Father Alberto asked when he finished.
How did he feel? He felt relief. He felt at ease. He felt as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, a weight no longer pressing on his chest. He felt freer, lighter. He felt forgiveness. He felt peace. “I feel like painting a door blue today.”
* * *
Shifting uncomfortably in the chair, Haven gazed through the large window at the world outside. It was close to dusk and dozens of kids wandered the street in costumes, stopping at houses with their colorful buckets for candy. She watched them, longing brewing inside her. They were all so young and carefree, ignorant to the dangers lurking a few feet from them. She had never known that type of innocence. When she was their age, the monsters in her life had been real.
“Hey, Twinkle Toes.”
She turned at the unexpected voice and saw Dominic in the doorway. He smiled as he walked forward, pulling an orange pumpkin-shaped lollipop from his pocket. He handed it to her, and Carmine groaned from his spot on the bed. He hadn’t left her side since going to his meeting with Salvatore days ago.
“She can barely keep soup down, and you’re giving her candy?”
