A Marriage Fit for a Sinner

She nodded and started to walk up when she noticed Romeo a short distance away. He nodded a greeting but didn’t join them as they headed up. The other man’s watchfulness made Eva frown.

‘Something on your mind?’ Zaccheo asked.

‘I was just wondering...what’s the deal with Romeo?’

‘He’s many things.’

‘That’s not really an answer.’

Zaccheo shrugged. ‘We work together, but I guess he’s a confidant.’

‘How long have you known him?’

When Zaccheo pulled his shades from the V of his T-shirt and placed them on, she wondered whether she’d strayed into forbidden territory. But he answered, ‘We met when I was thirteen years old.’

Her eyes rounded in surprise. ‘In London?’

‘In Palermo.’

‘So he’s your oldest friend?’

Zaccheo hesitated for a second. ‘Our relationship is complicated. Romeo sees himself as my protector. A role I’ve tried to dissuade him from to no avail.’

Her heart caught. ‘Protector from what?’

His mouth twitched. ‘He seems to think you’re a handful that he needs to keep an eye on.’

She looked over her shoulder at the quiet, brooding man.

‘My father worked for his father,’ he finally answered.

‘In what capacity?’

‘As whatever he wanted him to be. My father didn’t discriminate as long as he was recognised for doing the job. He would do anything from carrying out the trash to kneecapping a rival gang’s members to claiming another man’s bastard child so his boss didn’t have to. No job was too small or large,’ he said with dry bitterness.

The blood drained from her face. ‘Your father worked for the Mafia?’

His jaw clenched before he jerked out a nod. ‘Romeo’s father was a don and my father one of his minions. His role was little more than drudge work, but he acted as if he was serving the Pope himself.’

She glanced over her shoulder at Romeo, her stomach dredging with intense emotions she recognised as anguish—even without knowing what Zaccheo was about to divulge.

‘That bastard child you mentioned...’

He nodded. ‘Romeo. His father had an affair with one of his many mistresses. His mother kept him until he became too much of a burden. When he was thirteen, she dumped him on his father. He didn’t want the child, so he asked my father to dispose of him. My father, eager to attain recognition at all costs, brought the child home to my mother. She refused but my father wouldn’t budge. They fought every day for a month until she ended up in hospital. It turned out she was pregnant. After that she became even more adamant about having another woman’s child under her roof. When she lost her baby, she blamed my father and threatened to leave. My father, probably for the only time in his life, decided to place someone else’s needs above his ambition. He tried to return Romeo to his father, who took grave offence. He had my father beaten to death. And I...’ his face tightened ‘...I went from having a friend, a mother and father, and a brother or sister on the way, to having nothing.’

Eva frowned. ‘But your mother—’

‘Had hated being the wife of a mere gofer. My father’s death bought her the fresh start she craved, but she had to contend with a child who reminded her of a past she detested. She moved to England a month after he died and married a man who hated the sight of me, who judged me because of who my father was and believed my common blood was an affront to his distinguished name.’ The words were snapped out in a staccato narrative, but she felt the anguished intensity behind them.

Eva swallowed hard. Stepping close, she laid her head on his chest. ‘I’m so sorry, Zaccheo.’

His arms tightened around her for a heartbeat before he pulled away and carried on up the steps. ‘I thought Romeo had died that night, too, until he found me six years ago.’

She glanced at Romeo and her heart twisted for the pain the unfortunate friends had gone through.

They continued up the hill in silence until they reached the building.

They entered the cool but dim interior and as her eyes adjusted to the dark she was confronted by a stunning collection of statues. Most were made of marble, but one or two were sculpted in white stone.

‘Wow, these are magnificent.’

‘A local artist sculpted all the patron saints and donated them to the island over fifty years ago.’

They drifted from statue to statue, each work more striking than the last. When they walked through an arch, he laced his fingers with hers. ‘Come, I’ll show you the most impressive one. According to the history, the artist sculpted them in one day.’