Chapter 6: What the Priest Said

Ruggero's POV

I did not go home after the kitchen.

I sat in the car outside the Montalto gate until the sky went gray and thought about the weight of her cheek against my coat.

It had been twelve years since anyone had hit me and meant it.

She hit hard, and I wanted to be hit again.

I put that thought away where I kept the others and started the engine.

By seven I was in Germantown, in the parking lot of a nursing home run by nuns.

My left hand ached from the rain, which it always did.

I kept it in my pocket where nobody would ask.

The priest was in a sunroom at the back, in a wheelchair, with a blanket over his knees.

A window full of wet maples faced him.

He had married half of South Philadelphia, and now a Sister had to tell him what day it was.

"Father," I said, and took the chair beside him.

He turned his head slowly.

"Lombardi," he said, after a moment. "Your mother's boy. You were always sulking at the back."

"Yes, Father."

"Did you come to confess?"

"I came to ask you about a wedding."

His watery eyes went to the window.

"I've done thousands."

"Montalto and Bianca Corvi. Twelve years ago, give or take. In the sacristy at St. Rocco's, because the bride wasn't free."

The priest's hand moved on the blanket.

"The bride was always free," he said. "It was the groom who was married."