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It’s the smile he gives the congregation on Sundays.
He does it just like that after a bible verse, pausing for effect so you can think about it. Ponder it.
“Yes,” I say with a nod of conviction. “That is true.”
Father Rossario is one of the most revered men in the village.
People look to him because he gives them hope. Always hopeful with his influential sayings.
Faith can move mountains, nothing is impossible when you believe in God, blessed are the pure in heart for they shall have the kingdom of God.
The words and the passion he says it with are so gripping that they all believe him.
I did too.
He tilts his head to the side and his pale blue eyes twinkle. “Do you know how hard it is to be a peacemaker, Charlotte? What it consist of? All the work, all that work to love others and try for them, even when you know there is no hope.”
“Must be hard, Padre Rossario.” I smile at him, just like I know I’m supposed to. Just like I was told to.
He nods and smooths his hand up to his collar to remove it. I watch, keeping my eyes on him. He doesn’t like it if I look like I’m not paying attention.
Disinterest is just as much a sin as any other because if you miss the principle you won’t understand anything. That was the message he gave me the first time I met him.
The collar falls to the floorboards and a gust of breeze from the long windows makes it drift over to the fan palm tree in the vase.
I only see it out the corner of my eyes because I need to be good and pay attention.
“I believe the peacemakers deserve some kind of reward for their hard work. Don’t you?” His voice takes on a low timbre and he runs a hand through his silver hair before he starts undoing the buttons on his cassock.
“They do.”
“I have you. That’s why I have you. You are my reward for my hard work each week.” He dips his head and an ease smile inches across his thin lips.
“Yes,” I agree, again recalling my first meeting with him. He said something similar and says it often, like an affirmation of his rights to have me.
Antonio is one fucking asshole of a prick, but the first thing he insisted we did when we got here was go to church.
We went that Sunday when I first arrived and sat through the whole sermon Father Rossario gave and I confess I experienced some level of hope. It was something to hang on to.
Like most things I was proven wrong.
That same night Father Rossario came to the house and I found out very quickly why we went to church.
It was to show me off, and the way that I was to help my family pay back the debts owed to Antonio.
Father Rossario came to the house and paid five grand to have me for the night. He had me and has done so every Sunday since. His reward for being a good peacemaker.
Our Sundays start with us at church sitting on the front row so the other men can see me and they end with father Rossario balls deep inside me. Sometimes when I have what Antonio calls a free night, father Rossario comes then.
Like tonight.
His cassock drifts to the floor revealing his naked body and I can’t look away because I’m supposed to pay attention. If I don’t or piss him off in any other way someone could die.
It was my birthday yesterday and I spent it the same way I have for the last ten years, as a prostitute for my husband who makes a pretty penny from all the men who keep booking their nights to fuck me.
“You are so beautiful,” Father Rossario mutters.
“Thank you.” I’m supposed to answer and smile. I’m supposed to do as I’m told or someone will die.
