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But karma wasn’t a good mistress, at least not for a sinful girl like me.
* * *
A good Catholic girl.
That’s what I’d been brought up to be, first by my mother then my father taking over after her death. I’d often wondered as a child why he hadn’t burst into flames when he entered the church where I’d been baptized. The blasphemy of his appearance was something that remained in the back of my mind. After I’d become a teenager, he’d stopped going, leaving me to decide whether I wanted to or not.
I’d done so alone until I was eighteen. After the events on that birthday, I hadn’t returned, certain my God had forsaken me for the horrible sin I’d committed. Now I was certain of it. As another thought about the photograph slithered into my mind, I hated myself for my past decisions. And as I stood in front of the double doors of the beautiful, ornate church, a lump formed in my throat.
Maybe my silly prayer had allowed me to realize I needed something bigger than me. Maybe God could answer my prayers.
I wasn’t certain I’d come to this destination once Dante had left and I’d been allowed to roam the streets: the Catholic church. Maybe because I had no money, no credits cards or phone. That left me with few options. At least I could try to absolve my sins, professing to all the horrible things I’d done over the last few years.
Confession.
The priest wouldn’t have any idea what to expect. He also wouldn’t know anything about me or feel obligated to help a lost soul given I had none. As soon as I walked inside, I felt a sense of comfort, which was something I desperately needed. The church was about the same size as the one I used to attend, but the interior was much more elaborate, including red carpeting between the pews. I stood in the back for a few seconds, gazing at the various stained glass works of art, trying to calm my nerves.
For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt small and unwanted, nothing more than a possession. As my thoughts drifted to the man named Francesco, I knew a portion of my confession would be about him. Maybe that would ease my conscience to some degree.
As I headed to the confessional, I wasn’t certain I could speak coherently, the tears suddenly rushing to the forefront. I was so sick inside, trying desperately to hold them back but by the time I opened the small door, they were readily rolling down both cheeks.
I lowered my head, wringing my hands as I waited. When I finally heard footsteps, I gasped for air, terrified that I wouldn’t be able to speak at all. The creaking sound as the priest eased onto his seat brought a gasp from my chest.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been three years since my last confession.” I blurted out the words before they escaped me. “These are my sins.”
I hesitated and the fact the priest remained quiet was almost as terrible as what I was about to say. The agony of what was lingering in my mind remained so I littered the first few minutes with benign atrocities.
Lying.
Indulging in alcohol.
Partying too late.
Then the first hateful words slipped from my mouth easily.
“I hate my father. He is a monster, a bloodsucking monster who sold my soul. He killed my mother. No, he was too chicken to do it himself. He had one of his men do it at my birthday party when I was only fifteen. Just like he insisted I was going to marry a man for my eighteenth birthday, but I fooled him. I did something so horrible that I know I’ll end up in purgatory. But you know what? That’s okay.” I took a deep breath, holding it as the priest shifted in his seat, the sound of wood creaking penetrating the small space.
“I’m sorry, child. What did you say?” the priest asked, the glitch in his voice creating another wave of anxiety thick enough it altered my voice when I spoke.
“I’m sorry, Father. I know I’m not making any sense.”
“Is what you said true?”
“Yes. All of it. I know it sounds crazy, but I wouldn’t lie about something like that,” I said in quiet reverence.
“Have you gone to the authorities?” he asked.
“About my mother? They couldn’t help me even if I had. My father has them under his thumb in the Windy City. And it’s been several years. At least she’s no longer suffering.”
His voice was even more terse when he spoke again. “What about now?”
“Now, I’m being forced to marry a man I don’t know when I’m in love with another. It’s complicated, my father entering into a contract for money. Quite a bit of money. Five million dollars. I was just told about this. No, not told but commanded to enter into this unholy union, forced to sign my name on the contract. While I know it won’t hold up in court, I fear I’ll be dead before I can seek help.” I’d already said too much but I knew the priest was bound by his vows, not allowed to break the sacred oath. I wouldn’t dare mention the rest. I was terrified somehow my father would find out.
“And the man you’re in love with?”
“Someone I didn’t really know, but he was so incredible, someone I felt comfortable and happy around. He was special, even though I sensed he was dangerous. Forgive me, Father, but he was the one I gave my virginity to. He was my hero and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. But he had a life and I didn’t fit in. We both knew it. I understand his decision, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. I know. I’m rambling. I do that when I’m nervous.” Why did it seem so easy to confess all the emotions I’d tried so hard to bottle up?
Because this man was a stranger behind a dark screened panel, someone who wasn’t allowed by his faith to chastise me or run to my father. This was the first time I’d felt comfortable being around anyone since…
