Redemption (Sempre 2) - Page 179
The bickering started all over again.
Haven breathed a deep sigh of relief when dinner ended. Kelsey excused herself to use the restroom while Anita grabbed the bottle of wine and darted from the room, leaving Haven alone with Kelsey’s father.
The staff came in to clear the table. Haven watched them curiously, forgetting Cain was there until he spoke. “They’ve been employed by my family for a long time.”
Haven glanced at him curiously. “What?”
“The staff. They’ve worked for me for years, since Kelsey was a baby. Christmas is completely voluntary, but since they get paid double on holidays they usually all choose to work part of their shift.”
“Oh.” Suspicion washed through Haven. “How did you . . . ?”
“How did I know you wondered?” he asked, nailing her question right away. “I didn’t grow up wealthy. My mother moonlighted as a dancer. My father was a conman. Needless to say, I know that look on your face well.”
“What look is that?”
“The look of not understanding how life can deal someone such a crummy hand.” Cain stood, tipping his head. “It was nice meeting you. You’re welcome here any time.”
He walked out, leaving Haven alone in the giant dining room. Kelsey returned after a moment, pausing in the doorway. “So?”
“So,” Haven said, standing up, “maybe you weren’t totally exaggerating.”
Kelsey laughed. “Told you. Terrible.”
Terrible? Maybe not, but they certainly reminded Haven of people she had tried to avoid since she was a kid.
* * *
Saint Mary’s Catholic Church was a ghost town on a Saturday night, the rows of pews leading up to the pulpit vacant. The Bibles were all closed, tucked into their wooden nests, awaiting tomorrow’s service when the words printed on their pages would once again become front and center in dozens of lives.
Lives that, when the moon shone in the night sky, casually and callously disregarded the commandments they swore to abide by in the Sunday morning sunlight.
Vincent slipped into the church under the cloak of darkness, shrouded in an oversize black hooded sweatshirt covered in thick snowflakes. He removed his hood once safely inside, exposing his dark unkempt hair. He hadn’t had a cut in weeks, nor had he taken the time to shave—his scruffy hair coated his jaw while baggy jeans hung loosely from his waist. He appeared to be quite the opposite of the clean-cut doctor he once was.
He strolled up the aisle toward the front of the church, stopping near the massive organ to the left of the pulpit. It didn’t take long, only a moment or two, before Vincent heard footsteps behind him in the church. They were subtle, undetectable to ears that weren’t trained to listen to the dangers carried on the wind.
He hadn’t seen Father Alberto in quite some time—not since he had spilled his soul, letting loose all of his deepest, darkest demons—but he needed the man now. He needed his guidance. He needed to know that sometimes it was okay to do something immoral in order to spare others from suffering. Two wrongs don’t make a right, he knew that, but he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, one inconceivable wrong could be forgiven if it set it all straight again.
Vincent bowed his head as he closed his tired eyes, sullenly making the sign of the cross. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“What else is new?”
Vincent’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the voice, low yet striking, entirely detached and frighteningly familiar. Guarded, Vincent’s heart pounded as hard as a bass drum when he turned around, coming face-to-face with the last person he expected to encounter: Corrado.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Corrado said, standing beside the front pew a few feet away. “You haven’t been stealing your son’s clothes, have you? It’s really not a good look.”
Vincent eyed his brother-in-law suspiciously. Corrado seemed relaxed, his hands in the pants pockets of his black fitted suit as he stared at him, awaiting a response.
“How did you know I’d be here?” Vincent asked.
Corrado shook his head. “Lucky guess. You’re quite predictable, to be honest. Just as predictable as your son.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing, Vincent,” Corrado replied. “Church sanctuary ended centuries ago. They can’t offer you protection anymore. Well, maybe protection from God, but not from man. Nothing can protect you from man’s wrath. Not the police and certainly not a priest.”
“I didn’t come for asylum,” Vincent said. “I came to get advice.”
“Ah, maybe I can help you, then. Please, continue. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been . . .” Corrado raised his eyebrows expectantly as he trailed off.
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