Sempre: Redemption (Forever Series #2)(80)

“Oh, Vincenzo, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“A situation with no way out,” he said quietly.

“I don’t believe that,” Father Alberto said. “There’s always a way out.”

“Alive?”

Father Alberto was quiet, staring at the door Corrado had disappeared out of as he pondered Vincent’s question.

“That’s what I thought,” Vincent muttered when the priest supplied no response. “I guess there are worse things to be than dead.”

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest,” Father Alberto said, quoting Matthew 11:28. “As true as that may be, I don’t like you sounding so defeated. You should never give up.”

“I’m not giving up, Father. I’m giving in. I’ve fought against the current for a long time, but in the end I got swept downstream anyway. And I can’t keep swimming. I can’t. I’m too damn tired to do it anymore.”

“So, what, you just let yourself drown?” Father Alberto asked with disbelief.

“No,” Vincent said. “I wait for someone to throw me a lifeline, and then I drift away.”

“And what if no one does? Certain things are unforgiveable. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“I have faith I won’t have to.”

Father Alberto shook his head. “You look terrible, Vincenzo. Come, I have an extra cot in the back for you to get some sleep.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Then at least eat something and freshen up.”

He wanted to refuse, but the thought of food and a shower was too tempting to resist. Following Father Alberto to the back, he scarfed down two sandwiches and a bag of chips as the man sat across from him, studying him with his concerned eyes. “Is there a reason you came here tonight?”

“Advice,” he said. “My father used to have this saying: chi tace acconsente. I just wondered what you thought about it.”

Chi tace acconsente. Silence gives consent. Antonio DeMarco believed if you wanted something, if you believed in something, it was your responsibility to fight for it. If you remained silent, if you just stood back and did nothing, then you had no one to blame but yourself when nothing happened.

“I believe your father was a wise man,” Father Alberto said. “I may not have agreed with his choices, but I always admired his beliefs when it came to family and responsibility. And it’s true—if you stand for nothing, you’ll fall for anything.”

Vincent’s brow furrowed. “Is that scripture?”

Father Alberto smiled. “No, I believe it was Alexander Hamilton.”

“Thanks, Father.” Vincent stood. “I’ll take that shower now, if you don’t mind.”

Father Alberto showed him to the small bathroom. Vincent stripped out of his clothes, sighing as he pulled the simple gold necklace from around his neck, setting it on a shelf beside the towels. He squeezed into the shower, the stall so tiny he barely fit inside, and scrubbed with a bar of unscented soap. After washing his hair, he got out and dried off, putting his dirty clothes right back on again.

Vincent walked away, avoiding Father Alberto and any sort of good-bye as he made the inevitable journey to the exit. He covered his head with his hood again when he stepped outside, his hair still damp. A nice breeze hit his face as he stopped on the top of the church steps and peered out at the empty street.

A chill ran through his body, but it had nothing to do with the cool night air.

“Corrado.” He greeted him quietly, not bothering to look at the figure lurking in the shadows beside the steps. He knew he would be out here, waiting for him.

“Well, Vincent, we could call you a lot of things, but a coward certainly isn’t one of them.”

* * *

“Come on! We’re running behind!”

Corrado stood in the upstairs bathroom, early morning sunlight streaming in the window as he stared at his reflection in the small mirror. He was already showered and dressed, but he had done little else to prepare for the day. Exhaustion infiltrated every cell in his body, clearly visible in the lines on his face. He studied them, surveying every mark and blemish, every gray hair on his head and every blood vessel in his tired eyes.

“Do you hear me, Corrado? We’re going to be late!”

Celia stepped into the bathroom, frowning. Without saying another word, she walked up behind him and fixed the collar of his shirt.

“Twenty-seven years,” he said, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “We’ve been married for almost three decades and you still have to fix my tie most days.”

She smiled. “It’s hard to believe it’s been that long.”

“I know,” he said, glancing from her reflection back to his. “I’m showing my age.”

Celia laughed as he turned around to face her. “You’re still as handsome as the day we met.”

“And you’re even more beautiful.”

He leaned down and kissed her softly, enjoying the feel of her lips on his own. She broke the kiss within a matter of seconds, though, and wrinkled her nose when she pulled away. “You’re quite a bit scruffier now, though,” she said, rubbing the prickly hair on his jaw.

“I didn’t feel like shaving,” he said. “Don’t have the energy today.”