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Slash leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands in front of him. “So, you just agreed to keep his son a secret from him?”

“Never.” Father Armando said shaking his head. “I didn’t just agree. I bargained, pleaded and begged your mother to let me tell him. But she refused, and I was bound by my vows. She couldn’t keep the baby, so she had considered...other options. I promised her that if she brought me the child, I would see he was protected and raised in a happy home. It was the only way I could save you. And then I lost you.” His eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry I failed you in so many ways. I beg for your forgiveness every day, but understand if you are unable to grant it.”

Emotion caught in my throat. I dared a glance at Slash, but he was fixated on the picture of his father hanging from the wall illuminated by the candlelit shrine below. His expression indicated nothing of the emotions I knew had to be whirling like a firestorm within him.

“Is my mother still alive?” he finally asked.

Father Armando dipped his head. “Yes. But I remain bound by my oath and my promise to her. The Holy Father granted me dispensation to speak about your father’s confession because Cristian Descantes is no longer alive and his legacy is secure. But I cannot, will not, reveal her name or what was in her confession. But I do ask you to find forgiveness in your heart for her, for she is an extraordinary woman in her own right, and the only woman your father ever loved.”

Father Armando reached over and picked up the leather pouch on the coffee table. He pulled the tiny drawstring open and shook the contents of the pouch out into his hand. Looping a finger inside a chain, he held up a silver cross that was partially blackened and bent.

“I gave your father this cross as a present the day he took the vows of the priesthood. He told me he would always wear it as a reminder of all the people he couldn’t save. He was wearing it the day he died.”

Grief swept through me, a feeling of acute loss for the life Slash might have had, and the father and mother he’d never known.

Father Armando stood and walked around the coffee table to stand next to Slash. He took Slash’s bandaged hand and pressed the cross in his palm. “I’m giving you your father’s cross, Nicolo. Children learn much about life from their parents. Sons especially learn from their fathers. You never knew your father, but you can still learn a most important lesson from his life. He was a hero to so many, yet he carried with him, every day, a reminder of those he felt he had failed. That failure drove him, but the pain never left him. I spoke at great length, and prayed with him many times about it, trying to help him find relief. But he couldn’t let go. He didn’t know how.”

He put a gentle hand on Slash’s shoulder. “I want you to take this cross, so you may learn from your father. Don’t wear it as a reminder of the people you can’t save. Wear it as a reminder of those youhaveandwillsave.”

The room fell deathly silent. Tears slid down my cheeks, and I swiped at them with my fingertips.

Slash’s fingers slowly closed around the cross, now hidden inside his bandaged fist. He remained utterly still, his dark head bowed and his shoulders hunched forward. After a minute—maybe more—he reached around his neck and unfastened the gold cross of thesodalitium pianum. For what seemed like an eternity, it dangled between his fingers before he finally released it onto Father Armando’s coffee table. Then he carefully fastened his father’s cross around his neck.

When it was secure, he rose and faced Father Armando.

“Emilio,” he murmured. “I forgive you.”

He stretched out his arms, and the two men embraced. I don’t know how long they stood like that, the man I loved and the only man who’d ever really been a father to him. As unconventional as it was, they were family.Wewere family.

Despite all the hurt, pain and secrets that had come between us, there was still love here. The Holy Father had been right. Forgiveness could heal hearts. Maybe someday Slash would find peace in that.

Maybe weallwould find peace in that.

Chapter Sixty

Lexi

Slash stood on the balcony of our hotel, gazing at the water below us. He’d taken me back to Salerno for our last night in Italy. It was the same hotel as before, theHotel La Lucertola, the one built into the cliffs overlooking the sea.

His hands rested on the rail, shoulders straight, his dark hair blowing in the breeze. Standing there alone, he was the perfect picture of isolation. The ocean crashed against the rocks of the cliffs beyond the balcony. The smell of salt and brine wafted into the room on the warm afternoon air. Until this trip to Italy, I’d never realized how important the sea was to him—how it connected him to his home here. Now, it connected me to him so he was no longer alone.

I walked out onto the balcony and stood next to him, admiring the ocean. When he saw me, that sense of isolation vanished. Every time we were together, the pull between us got stronger and more resilient.

“Is everything fixed for Gio’s wedding?” I asked.

“It is. It’s amazing how fast things can move when the pope says he’ll look into the matter.”

He pulled me into his arms, held me snugly. I leaned back against him as we both enjoyed the view, his chin resting on top of my head. “Looks like we’ll be returning to Sperlonga in a few months for Gio’s wedding.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I’ll get to see Nonna again, and finally meet your parents. Oh, jeez, I can’t even wrap my head around that yet. Will we see Tito, too? I’m sorry I missed him this time around.”

“I’ll make sure we get together with him when we come back for the wedding. Did you know Tito was threatening to date you if I hadn’t made my move yet?”

“Ha, ha. Did you tell him about our engagement?”

“I did. He’s set to retire from the Swiss Guard soon.”

“Life moves on.”