[smg id=31099 type=normal align=center width=150]

by Kirsty-Anne Still

  I try to figure him out. Usually I can read Enzo and Carlo alike, but I fear I’m losing my touch.

  “See if you can shut that brother of yours up,” our father interrupts, walking into the room with a fearsome stomp in his step. “His mood swings are really starting to fucking tick me off.”

  “Actually, Enzo is taking me out,” I begin to tell him, not willing to deal with the beast upstairs.

  “Well, good, we can all ignore him then,” my father dryly remarks about Giovanni. “Zane is coming with me today.”

  “I am?” Zane asks walking into the room. “I was hoping for an easy day. I was going to treat Amelia to a day out.”

  My father waves off his idea with a swift hand gesture. “There’s time for that later. I have our ride outside; we’ll grab a coffee while we’re out. Bye, bambina, Enzo.”

  “Okay then,” I say, ignoring my father as he takes his time to leave. His belligerent need to pick us all up and drop us as he pleases is something that really drives me insane. Bit like when I used to pick between being Daddy’s little helper and being that expendable delinquent. As he leaves the room, in a fouler mood than what he arrived, I give Zane a smile as he silently begins to leave, to which I receive a cheeky wink and turn back to Enzo. “Do we really need to go out? Can we not deal with the beast upstairs and just stay in our pajamas, eating ice cream and watch films all day. I have some poison left somewhere; we can slip it in his morning coffee and be done.”

  Enzo looks ready to accept my deal, but then replies, “No.” He laughs, half mirthlessly, but he can’t contain how much my idea of silently killing Giovanni was a good option. “It’s a good deal, but you’ll love it, you’ll see,” he pushes, but I pull and refrain from budging. “Look, you can stay here and feel the wrath of Gio, or you can come with me and start to find some way to come to terms with what you’ve been made to do.” He then sits back in his seat, clearly able to guess that my deliberation won’t take half as long as I want to draw it out as. “Lia, it’s entirely up to you, but if you don’t walk, I’ll make you.”

  “Fine,” I say, sighing. I give in by draining the rest of my coffee and standing up. “Let’s do this.”

  He jumps up, fired with enough enthusiasm, forgetting about his own coffee. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

  Famous last fucking words, Enzo Abbiati!

  ***

  As I look up at the enormous church, my Catholicism mocks me.

  My sinful demons that trail my every move roll around on the ground in hysteria and they have every right to! My brother brought me to our old church. One where we attended mass, came to keep the peace, and came to offer a helping hand. That all changed once my mother died. That day, when my father strangled the life from her, he refuted his own religion, rejected any idealism of goodness, and became a beast that switched on his love for us when it suited him.

  I look back up at the church, and the aging brickwork makes me feel inferior. The delicate beauty of the stained glass windows and wonderment of all the saints and sinners that have crossed paths with this house of God has me overwhelmed. I have no right to go into a place of worship which is created for those who are worthy of a heavenly afterlife.

  “Are you actually crazy?!” I exclaim, looking at my brother as if he’s grown a second head. “I can’t go in there!”

  “Why not?” he asks me, his tone blasé, and he throws in a shrug as if this is really no big deal. This is a very big fucking deal! “We were raised Catholic. Maybe if we strived for some goodness, we might find some.”

  “Religious goodness isn’t going to save our souls, Enzo. Not when we live with the devil him-fucking-self,” I snarl, keeping my tone lower than usual. “Going in there and confessing every one of my sins will take me until old age.”

  He laughs at me. Apparently, this is more comical than I fucking first thought!

  “Don’t laugh!” I say, punching him hard on the arm. “Murder, theft, extortion, use of explosives, seduction, a bit more murder, torture. Oh, and the normal Catholic morals of living don’t promote promiscuity or excess alcohol consumption! We’re the biggest hypocrites ever going in there! God, Enzo,” I murmur, cursing in vain, putting my hands on my head in despair. “You do realize that we could go up in smoke just walking through the door.”

  Now he laughs harder than ever. “Chill, Lia. I walked through the door only yesterday, and I didn’t even singe an eyelash.”

  “Yeah, well your track record is practically squeaky clean compared to mine.” I feel my entire face fall. The shock that remedies up causes me to doubt my brother – he comes to church?! “But hang on! You came here yesterday?!”

  Enzo’s lips twist into a coy, half smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Lia.”

  “That’s not fair,” I tell him, pouting. “You know everything about me.”

  “Then it’s time you knew everything,” he says, gesturing to the stairs up to the weather-worn church. He begins to lead the way knowing that I won’t be able to resist following – and I don’t.

  We walk in, yet my steps are slower and more hesitant than Enzo’s. The church’s omnipotence is crushingly overwhelming. The grand pillars that line either side of the church and the glorified whiteness that paints the walls are all awe-inspiring, but it’s the familiar smell of incense that I remember from my childhood that humbly brings me back to the ground. This place is everything that I remember, but the calmness it offers is something I have never felt before. Obviously, in my adolescence I was unable to appreciate the effect of such a place.

  “Good morning, Father.” Enzo’s voice reverberates around the hollow shell of the church, ricocheting from the vast corners and empty space.

  “Enzo,” Father replies, his face lighting up. “I’ve told you to call me Andrew time and time again.”

  “Something I should know?” I ask, curiously looking back and forth between the pair.

  “Enzo, here, is one of the church’s biggest helpers,” Father says, proudly taking a moment to put an arm around my brother’s shoulder.

  “You should know,” Enzo begins to state, and it unnerves me at how bashful he’s become. “Carlo and I come here to help out. We help the church give more to those who need it. Money, food drives, charity runs, you name it.”

  “You and Carlo?” I ask, feeling my brain fog with confusion.

  Father begins to laugh. “I swear Carlo almost lives here.”

  “He does,” Enzo agrees, chuckling himself. “Andrew, I thought my sister could do with some time in the confessional.”

  No.

  Now, I feel stricken. How do I open up to a stranger? Even worse, how do I open up to a God loving man who has the right to condemn me? It’s one thing to confess things to my brother who lives the life I do with me and another coming clean to Zane, but to a Father who’s taken oaths and pledges to do God’s work on Earth?

  “Andrew used to work for Carmello,” Enzo suddenly interjects. “He knows all about what we have to do.”

  “It’s why I became a Father. I wanted out of that lifestyle, and I wanted a way to give back. After all the things I witnessed, I wanted to be someone people could find solace in. I want you to know there is a life after and we are all allowed to find some peace from our suffering. In God, I found forgiveness, so I know others can if they give a little of themselves up.” His persona is comforting, not like the other Father who used to work here. “Here we believe wholly in redemptive suffering. We are all worthy of lessening our penalty for our sins. Looking for forgiveness is a good start.”

  “Lia, you don’t have to become some religious freak, but just truly opening up and letting someone else in, who isn’t family. Someone almost impartial.”

  “Whatever you tell me will stay within the ways of this church,” Father Andrew adds, trying hard to ease my mind. “You don’t have to be in there long. You confess for however long you want to.”

  I close my eyes as I finally cave. “Okay.”
/>
  “I’ll find something to do while I wait,” Enzo comments, backing away from us, clearly knowing if he stays I will back out.

  “You know what to do, don’t you, Amelia?” Father Andrew asks and I bite my lip not wanting to seem ignorant. “You prayer to the Holy Spirit first, and then, you wait in the confessional booth.” He begins to lead me over to a row of pews just right of the booth. “Carlo’s out back,” Father tells Enzo as he starts to guide me closer to the confessional booth. Stereotypically, they’re wooden boxes with red curtains and I can only imagine that once I’m inside, Father Andrew and I will be separated by a slim piece of wood, made to distort vision, but not sound. “Settle here and I’ll show Enzo where Carlo is, and then, I’ll be back.”

  “Okay,” I whisper, slipping into the pews.

  I watch my brother begin to walk away, and for the first time in years, I clasp my hands together in prayer and close my eyes. I haven’t spoken to a higher deity in so long, but the moment I do, a calm aura overtakes me and I allow myself to speak freely, hoping someone, somewhere will hear my mental prayer.

  Please, give me the strength I need to seek the forgiveness I strive for. Give me the light to repent and shed myself of the guilt I carry around. Give me the strength and grace my brothers possess and the valor my mother fought every day for. Give me the fearlessness to admit that I am allowed to repent and seek freedom.

  I used to remember sitting beside my mother as she prayed, hearing her mumbled begs for someone to overlook my father and keep me and my brothers safe. She used to strive for strength, for grace, for the ability to make my man a better version of him and to keep herself from the corruption. If anything, I’ve taken her words and found myself needing them.

  Feeling happy with myself, I begin to move. I prepare to strive for the goodness my mother instilled in our house. If Enzo and Carlo can do it, I can start. I want an end to the madness and if this is something that I have to try, then I will.

  Approaching the booth, I take a calming breath before opening the door and entering. I sit on my side, wondering if this is just to get me on edge. I have all these dastard images of an impostor sitting on the other side, recording everything, and waiting for me to say one thing that will hang the entire Abbiati clan. When I push that idea away, it’s now that I really reflect on what it is that I regret the most – is it the murder? No. The deceit, the lies, and the troublesome lifestyle we lead? No. What I regret most in this world swirls to life from a pool of grief in me.

  I notice a bible setting before me on the ledge. Reaching up, I take the black, leather bound book and open it. I find myself with a list of what to expect from confessional, and the book has been stickered throughout. As I flick through pages, I realize there are notes on sin, salvation, and ultimate redemption.

  When Enzo said he wanted to change his life, I didn’t realize Father Andrew would be rooting for the evil underdogs in this world so much. It fills me with enlightenment to know that there is a comeback from the darkest depth this world has to offer.

  But as I hold the book, my hands begin to sweat and my palms become clammy. Putting the bible back down, I begin to rub both hands against the skirt of my dress. It’s hot outside, but the church is surprisingly cool. My sudden hot sweat is brought on by the rapid nerves consuming me. They’re invading my system and with it, my throat begins to feel tight.

  I begin to reach up, prepared to pull the screen away, but decide I would really rather not see Father Andrew try to keep his emotions in check. I don’t want to be stopped from executing my confession because I fear what I might see glance across his face.

  As I see the light embrace the opposite side, I know Father Andrew is about to enter. I see his form move into the box and hear him settling. Taking difficult inhales, I close my eyes, remembering all the times I have sat outside confessional when my mother and father would repent their penance and hope nothing has changed. I reach again for the bible, using it as an aid, but ultimately I draw from things I remember.

  "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. I have never been granted the opportunity to confess my sins." I close my eyes, clasp my hands together, and strive for the strength I just prayed for. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” I start my confession and these words in themselves are on the lips of a notorious sinner. “I’m struggling to decide where to start with this. I have been asked to do the absolute worst in this life and I fear I am past saving.”

  “No one is ever past saving if they are a child of God,” Father Andrew speaks, his tone kept calm and soothing. “Start wherever you need to.”

  “I feel like I’ve become a monster,” I remark, drawing on my confessions to Enzo. “My father took advantage of my grief after my mother died, and since then, I’ve become someone I don’t want to be. I allowed him to use every moment of heartbreak to create me into something he would idolize, but ultimately, I do not.” I can feel my fingers tightening around the bible as I continue to tense up. “He forces me to do the deeds he doesn’t, in order for him to reap the rewards and the shame it puts on me is too much. I feel like I’m suffocating and I don’t want to anymore. I want to live a life without having to execute others at another’s will. I want to live my life how I want to.”

  The silence that follows between us is earth shattering. I know he passes no verbal judgment, and I need to continue.

  “But I know God cannot forgive murderers who take the lives of innocent people.” I feel a ravaging roar of culpability assault me. I remember when Zane had told me that some of the men I killed had no connection to my father whatsoever, how he only wanted me to do the dirty work. “I have been a victim of exploitation and abuse for years without knowing it, and now I am fully aware of what my actions have done, of how I have destroyed people’s lives. I’m worried I’ll never be able to live with myself.” Now, the tears fall. I don’t cave to the ever-growing sob building in me, but the tears silently fall. “And I hate myself most for becoming something my mother fought so hard for us not to become. She was the one who made sure we were somewhat sheltered and protected and given the best of the life our father created. After her death, we all forgot that moral goodness she made sure we thrived on. I feel like she would hate what we’ve become. She would be rolling over in her grave if she were knew what has become of us.” I leave the bible sitting on my lap as I reach up to wipe away my tears. “I don’t want to feel like that anymore. I want to turn my life around and make it something beautiful. I want a chance to live my life how I want to, not how others want me to. I’m not prepared to kill anyone else anymore or deceive them in any way. I want to lead a good life. I want to be free, and I can’t be that if I continue to live this life. I can’t be what I’m not meant to be.” I sniffle, worried my confession won’t grant me access to the good life. “I just want to start to turn my life around. I want to save my family how they have me. I want my brothers to live a good life with me where we aren’t worried about what we’re doing, and we don’t drive fear into others. I want the life our mother set out for us. I want to be a better person because I have a man who strives to see the good in me. I know I said murderers don’t deserve to be saved, but if a man can love me wholeheartedly after knowing what I have done in the past, then I have to believe I am due love and freedom elsewhere.” When I finish, my heart is racing fiercely, and my ribcage begins to ache. I take a moment to steady myself before I say the last part of my confession. "I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life."

  There’s a brief silence, the only noise coming from the few churchgoers present right now. Andrew doesn’t say anything, so I finally take a deep breath and admit the final flaw within me.

  “Recently, I’ve been struggling with myself. I fell in love. Head over heels in love and I feel that is the biggest cross I could ever bear. I’ve tried to shake it, tried to kill what I feel, but with every action, he loves me more. He stands by me, saves me, supports me, loves me, and I feel like I’
m going to be the one thing that kills him. I pray every day that his love for me isn’t the thing that kills him. I cannot survive losing him and my selfishness makes me more immoral for feeling like that. I love him and that’s the bottom line. Everything that comes from that one sentiment is everything I have dreamed, of everything I wanted. He’s my savior, my hero, my...” I pause to hiccup on a sob. “He’s my knight in blood caked armor.” I bow my head, allowing my tears to fall in ribbon melodies across my cheeks. “But I feel I don’t truly deserve the love he has to give and I cannot enjoy it until I start to forgive myself. My brother was right to bring me here. I want to love Zane with my entire heart. I don’t want to conflict any of my emotions anymore. I want to love him and live with him and finally have the life I’ve been denied.” I take a shaky breath. “This is where it all begins.”

  A tense moment resumes between us. I’ve nothing left to say, so I leave it to Andrew to condemn me how he sees fit.

  “I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father and of Son and of the Holy Spirit,” Father Andrew’s voice replies and the silence resumes for a moment. "Give thanks to the Lord for He is good."

  "For His mercy endures forever."

  As he leaves, I remain seated, trying to garner some courage to confront the man. Examining my own conscience, it’s a shocking revelation to see that most of my woes stem from the death of my mother. I have disappointed her legacy in the wake of my father’s dominance. She died and he killed not only her but also every single ounce of goodness she filled our home and family with.

  Or so I make myself believe.

  We may all be corrupt from original sin, but I know my father didn’t help aid our abilities to resist. If anything, he played with the weakness we all have within us and, like his father before him, wanted a horde of morally corrupt, dutiful members for the Dio Lavoro. We’re not a true family, we are not a clan. We are, for the most part, strangers struggling to survive. I have come to realize that my real family is small and special and full of people with a conscience that shines so bright we all have a divine hope to make it through this.