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When I’m outside, I hear her heavy footsteps pounding after me. The thought crosses my mind that she shouldn’t be running, but she is, and I know she’ll carry on until I stop.
Within seconds, I’m at the storefront, and I crouch beside Gianni. The stench, as always, hits me first. There’s never a day where it doesn’t take me back to Oran—today, it’s not enough to trigger a flashback, but for the uncomfortable memory of smelling like this to ghost my mind.
When I touch his shoulder, he moans, and not in sleepiness.
I pull back his blanket some, disturbed when I feel wetness?—
“Blood,” Andrea rasps from behind me. “Are you bleeding again?”
The question has me peering at her. “Probably, but that’s not me.”
Blood has no scent unless there’s a lot of it, and seeing the scarlet coating my fingers makes my brain freeze.
“Shit!” Andrea mutters, and I hear her fumble with her phone before she calls for an ambulance.
Gianni’s eyes drift open and he gives me the most sheepish of grins. “Morning, Father.”
“Gianni, what’s?—”
He blows out awetbreath then painstakingly slurs, “Better if don’t know, Father. You’re good man. Don’t need get into… trouble for me.”
I pat him down, trying to find the source of the blood. When I uncover it, he lets out a sharp hiss once I put pressure on the wound.
I watch him waver in and out of consciousness. “ETA on the ambulance?”
Andrea whispers, “Eight minutes.”
Too long.
I know it. Perhaps she does too.
Quickly, I unfasten the violet stole I wore for confession, ruffle it up, and hold it against the wound that’s not bleeding enough. Not because he’s getting better, but because hisheartbeat is too sluggish to pump more of it onto the sidewalk below us.
How he’s still conscious, I’m not sure.
“Gianni, who did this to you?” I rasp, needing to know. Needing to make amends.
If someone attacked him and that same person assaulted Riccardo the night before, I have to visit thecarabinieri.
“Messed up, Father. Should have stayed away,” he slurs.
“From whom? Tell me! I’ll report it to the police.”
Out of nowhere, from weak to strong, Gianni’s hand snaps around my wrist. “You mustn’t.” His eyes are feverish. “Corelli dangerous. You not get involved.”
Corelli?!
“You’re one of the men he killed last night.”
“Just took while to die,” he says with a croaky laugh.
“What did you get yourself into?” I demand, furious at him.
This is probably why he refused my money last night, dammit.
I know the homeless take on jobs. He isn’t always here, even though his stuff remains close to his patch in front of the store once night falls.
“Nothing good, Father. Nothing good.” He’s starting to slur even worse now. “Don’t know how stayed alive this long. Maybe it was see you—” His grin makes a cheeky reappearance. “You going save my soul?” The words resonate more than I could even imagine, and he seals them by muttering, “Only God can help me now.”