Dishonorable

“This is amazing.”

Sofia stepped up the two stairs and pushed the heavy wooden door open. I remained at the back, watching her take in every detail, touch every surface as she made her way toward the altar. There were only six pews, three on each side. It was very small. The roof had caved in at one corner, but the altar and most of the building was still protected against rain or snow. An overgrowth of green crept along the outside and some of the inside walls.

“The altar is intact.”

She bowed her head and made the sign of the cross, then climbed the three stairs to touch the stubs of candles and wax stuck to the stone altar, the crucifix that still hung there.

“This place has an energy to it,” she said more quietly, not quite looking at me. “Do you know when it was last used?”

“When my mother was alive.”

“Oh.”

She walked around to where a confessional stood, the wood rotting.

“It’s almost as though incense clings to the space like it was burned yesterday.”

She peeled what was left of the old, dusty curtain back to look into the confessional, then turned to me.

“Do you feel it, that energy?”

I had my hands in my pockets and shook my head. There was a time I had. But that was past. “Not anymore.” She looked at me like she felt sorry for me. “We should go.”

“If you let the past go, maybe it will let you go.”

Her words startled me, momentarily rendering me mute. Her gaze held me, and for an instant, I felt envious of the hope that flashed inside those innocent eyes.

But then reality reminded me why she was here. “Who says I want to let it go?”

Sofia looked physically deflated. I gestured to the door. “Let’s go.”

“Will you repair it? The chapel?”

“No.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Are you asking my permission now?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I guess I am.”

“I can’t promise I’ll answer, but you’re free to ask.”

“What kind of things do you think my grandfather is involved in? On the plane, you said ‘for one thing.’ That means there’s more.”

“Does that mean you believe me?”

“You have to understand how hard it is to grasp. He took Lina and me in, he paid—”

“He’s living off your inheritances. You’re paying for it all.”

She bowed her head, shaking it once. I dropped it. It would take her time to accept this. I could give her that. Hell, time was all we had.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t really want to know the answers to. Believe it or not, it’s not you I want to hurt.”

“I’m collateral damage. I know.”

“Let’s go.”

This time, she came without resistance. We drove in silence until I pulled through the gates of a neighboring farm. “Come on” I said, switching off the engine and watching about six children huddled in old man Lambertini’s shed. His dog had recently had pups.

“Where are we?”

“This is the Lambertini farm. They’re the ones who rent the land for their cows. I have some business with Lambertini. You’ll have to wait for me.”

Lambertini stood, wiping his hands on a towel, his pipe hanging from his mouth, the smile wide on his weather-worn skin as he came toward us and held out his hand to shake mine.

“Raphael.”

He pulled me to him, hugging me with a pat on the back.

“Good to see you home,” he said in Italian.

“It’s good to be home, Mr. Lambertini.”

He turned to Sofia and held out his hand.

“This is Sofia, my fiancée.”

Sofia smiled and said hello when he took both of her hands in one of his.

“Are those puppies?” she asked.

“Why don’t you go see them while I have my meeting,” I told her.

She nodded and went. I followed Lambertini inside, where we discussed the business of the farms before his face grew serious. He told me there had been men there a few weeks back. I guessed it was Moriarty’s men, looking for me now that I was back. He didn’t know who they were, but from the look on his face, they weren’t overly friendly, which only confirmed my suspicion.

“I’ll take care of it,” was all I said. My father had enemies, which meant I had enemies. If he owed money, and I was pretty sure he did, they’d come after me to pay his debts.

We walked back outside, and I found Sofia trying her Italian with the kids, one of the pups in her lap.

“Take it,” the old man said, gesturing, smiling.

She glanced at me.

“He’s telling you you can have one.”

“What?”

She looked from him to the pup to me. She didn’t want to ask permission from me. I could see the pride in her eyes.

“I had a puppy once,” she said instead, petting the little thing.

I didn’t say anything. She turned her big caramel eyes to mine.

“Can I?” She bit her lip.