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Did Lucca confess his dirty and cruel heart, his deep sins? Or did he walk into the house of God guilt-free and with the same power as he did everywhere else?
Did he kill, torture, steal, cheat, and commit mortal sins with the weight of the afterlife?
In Italy, I used to roam around the city searching for churches. They were my favorite architectural structures, and each new church I found was like a sweet surprise. My love for them started long before Italy. It had been my mother’s refuge. While we hardly left our home, that was the one place she did take us. Until one day, it was just her and I taking a ride to the same stone cross building.
She wept. I sat with a coloring book and pencils.
She prayed. I drew.
And once her chest and tears settled, we left. Every time I walked out, I wished for the next time I could stare at its high ceiling and colorful windows even if the big church made her cry.
Until one day she was gone, and I never returned to the same church again. With time, I learned the meaning of depression, sorrow, and void. My mother was a victim of all three, and with Father by her side, there was no escaping the cause.
She died in a car wreck, but by the looks of how her room missed many of her belongings, it never felt like an accident.
Now, I stood inside the stained-glass windows of Lucca's church. It brought me no peace, not this way. I watched as the clock ran while I stood with my arm wrapped around his while the eyes of the congregation took in the outsider, me.
“Smile,” Lucca murmured as people swarmed in our direction.
I did as he asked and let go of his arm to stand tall with an imitation of content smeared on my lips. Lucca’s hand swept below, grazing and resting his long fingers against my back.
Abruptly, his hand disappeared and was replaced by tiny hands that pushed us away. A ray of dirty blond curls and giggles flew between us, and my surprise was replaced with a smile. The little girl glanced back with a beaming toothless smile, running and laughing as her dusted freckled nose pinched together. She was so fast that only glimpses of her pink daisy flowered dress and bright yellow shoes peeked through the roaming bodies.
“My apologies.”
I turned to the voice and found a tall man with warm brown eyes and dark golden hair. His eyes couldn’t make eye contact for long before they were searching behind us.
“No need, Rana.” Lucca pulled me back, placing his hand where it had once rested. A small smile played on his lips, amused. “Katia, this is Rana, andthatis his daughter Milly.”
“A pleasure meeting you both.” I held my chuckle.
Rana’s brows furrowed, and he shook his head.
“This wasn’t how I envisioned meeting the boss’s fiancée, but…” Broad shoulders shrugged. “Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you,” I replied, but I was most welcome for the glint of sunshine that lightened my heart for a moment in quick speeds and yellow shoes.
“I don’t mean to be rude…” Rana trailed off, and his eyes moved along with his head past us.
“Go, Rana,” Lucca ordered, and the man rushed away.
My gaze followed his trail, and I asked, “Rana?”
It meant frog in Italian, but I couldn’t piece together how he’d taken such a nickname.
“He sings to stay awake, but others call it croaking.” Our eyes met, and he said, “Come, there’s a few people you should meet.”
Introductions were made one after another. Countless names and bodies flowed continuously, many of which were affiliated with the Moretti Mafia. His men spoke to me with respect as their wives gushed and promised a visit to get to know each other further.
Congratulations for our union were endless, and I noticed the way he was treated with regard. Something not easily obtained in our world. Lucca had earned their trust and having me by his side was something his own capos and soldiers approved of for their boss and city.
I nodded, smiled, and chimed in the conversation when required. The doting and perfect example of his future wife and queen. All while we walked and stood under the house of God. This was the hardest thing for me to understand, the way Mafia men were able to follow the church and their faith so closely and still cause havoc in the streets with sin.
“Would you like a glass of water before mass begins?” Lucca brought me closer as he whispered.
In response, I nodded, my mouth dry after playing my part.
He dipped his chin, and his hand pressed for me to walk farther away from the crowd to the side of the church.
