Page 88 of Priestly Sins

After knocking and a few quiet murmurings, my girl comes back, head hanging, spring in her step missing.

“We can’t. Momma says we need to go somewhere, just the two of us.”

“Where’s that, love?”

“I don’t know. I want to go look for mermaids, Poppa!”

“We can do it tomorrow. Promise.”

“Then why does Momma have suitcases?”

“I don’t know, love. Let me go see.”

I march down the hall, tamping back my anger. I have been wholly honest with Sirona, wholly vulnerable. She knows my secrets. I accepted her and thought I had the same in return.

Knock knock.

Nothing.

Knock knock.

Nothing.

“Sirona?”

Silence.

I twist the knob, but it’s locked.

“Clara and I are going to search for mermaids.” The faint pounding of feet and clapping of hands accompanies a “Yippee!” from down the hall. “Want to go with us?”

The lock clicks and the door swings wide. Sirona’s wild anger has replaced her quiet meekness.

She whisper-shouts while wagging her finger at my chest, “Don’t you dare try to take my child from me. I know everything I need to know about you to have you put away for life. Don’t. Fucking. Test. Me.”

This is new. And if she weren’t making wild accusations that piss me the fuck off, I might be turned on right now.

“I would never!” I return sternly but quietly, jaw set.

“She and I are leaving. Leaving this country. Leaving this god-awful, fucked-up situation and leaving you!”

“No!”

“No? Fuck you!”

She grabs the door to slam it shut in my face, but I grab it, forcing it open where she can look me in the eye. My expression must say something I don’t want it to say because fear reaches her eyes. I blink, schooling my features.

“You can’t. Not yet.”

“And why the fuck not?”

“Because I have to know that you two will be safe. I love you and I love her and I’m not going to throw you to the wolves. I need you safe. And you” —I point to her and then toward the living room— “wouldn’t put her in harm’s way if you could help it. And you can help it.”

“I won’t have another situation where I’m at the mercy of any man. First my father, then Enzo, then Rocco, and… now you.” She might as well spit out the last word.

I turn to walk away, but stop and do an about-face a foot down the hall.

I look at the floor and ask the scariest question of my life, “What do you want?”