Page 11 of Vicious Behaviors (The Next Vicious Generation #3)

Marcello

St. Mary’s Cathedral—the one place I swore I’d never return to, yet here I fucking am.

After the total meltdown I had at Nonno’s gym, I made the brilliant decision to go home early.

Rookie mistake.

It was just the rash decision my mother was looking for to take full advantage of. She pounced the second I stepped through the door, roping me into Mass with the family.

Unable to deny her anything, I showered, slipped into my Sunday best, and found myself tagging along to church like some repentant sheep.

The devil, relishing in my discomfort, remains silent as Father Alejandro recites passages from the good book.

I didn’t always feel like a fraud in church.

Back when I was young and clueless to the wrongs of the world, Sunday Mass had a certain magical quality.

It made me feel connected to something bigger.

It gave me hope that maybe I could make a difference, that some higher power was out there, guiding me down the right path.

I used to love coming here. It made me feel safe. At peace. However, that feeling has long since vanished. Once the devil took root in my soul, this place became just another reminder of how far I’d fallen.

How could I possibly be a force for good when darkness lives inside me? Even if Father McDonagh hadn’t explicitly said evil was corrupting me, I still would’ve felt out of place.

Taking a life—any life—changes a person. That’s a lesson I learned far too young. A lesson I’m still paying for.

I’m the last person who should be here. Absolution isn’t mine to have. My soul is too far gone to even ask for it.

“Mar? Are you okay?” Stella whispers beside me, slipping her hand into mine and giving it a gentle squeeze.

I continue to stare straight ahead, unable to give her an answer. I don’t lie to Stella. Not Stella. I might hide who I am from everyone else, but never her. I tried to once, and it nearly broke us.

“That’s what I thought,” she mutters, lips tightening into a thin line. “ Mammà shouldn’t have bullied you into coming. You do know you’re allowed to say no to her, right?” The corner of my lips raises slightly, since that is such a Stella thing to say.

Stella and my mother have always butted heads.

Two strong personalities, constantly crashing into each other like waves on a cliff.

However, I’ve never been good at saying no to Mom.

Mostly because when I do, I just end up worrying her, and she already spends enough sleepless nights worrying about me as it is.

“It’s okay,” I say and offer a shy smile, enough to relax Stella’s tense shoulders.

“Liar,” she teases, giving me a wink before shifting her gaze back to Father Alejandro.

She then glances at Enzo at the end of the pew and rolls her eyes when she catches him ogling his boyfriend at the altar.

“This is so messed up. If half these people knew what Alejandro and Enzo got up to behind closed doors, they’d be scarred for life. ”

“Stella,” our father, Giovanni, whispers cautiously over his shoulder in front of us.

However, Stella just shrugs it off. “What? It’s true. Most of these rosary-pounding bacchettoni would shit a brick if they knew their shiny new priest couldn’t keep it in his cassock for even a month once Enzo got his sights on him.”

“Stella, stop,” Annamaria says gently, keeping her voice low. “Alejandro’s family now.”

“Is he?” Stella arches a brow. “Because as far as I can tell, he’s still playing both sides. You’re either a priest or you’re one of us. You can’t have it both ways.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to figure things out. It can’t be easy for him, you know?” Annamaria explains, always the empath to someone else’s suffering and struggle. “Turning your back on your vocation is no small thing. Give him time.”

“Anna’s right,” I chime in softly. “We need to be patient.”

Stella snorts. “Have you met me, Mar? Patience isn’t exactly my forte.”

“Don’t we know it.” Annamaria giggles, quickly covering her mouth with her hand before drawing attention to herself. The melodic sound makes me smile for real this time.

“Laugh all you want,” Stella frowns, “but you know I’m right. Every second Alejandro struggles with his conscience is a second closer to him cracking and running his mouth to the cops.”

“He won’t do that,” Annamaria defends just as quickly, her worried eyes locking with mine. “He won’t, Mar.”

My spine stiffens, forcing me to look away from her pleading gaze.

“Pray you’re right. Because if he does…” Stella says, letting the unfinished threat dangle in the air like a loaded weapon.

“You… wouldn’t,” Annamaria whispers, her frightened voice barely audible.

“Wouldn’t I?” Stella fires back, calm and lethal. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my family, Anna. And until Alejandro is truly a part of it, then he’s shit out of luck.”

Annamaria blanches at the quiet finality in Stella’s voice.

If Alejandro doesn’t make up his mind soon, he’s as good as dead.

“Children,” our father, Vincent, calls from the pew in front of us. “Time and place,” he adds firmly, ending the conversation.

In other words, we shouldn’t be discussing whacking a priest while the poor bastard is literally giving a sermon.

I glance over at a blissfully unaware Enzo, whose eyes remain fixed on Alejandro as if the man just hung the stars and moon for him.

No matter what Stella says, I won’t let her kill someone Enzo loves for something I did. I may be godless, but that doesn’t mean I’m soulless. The devil in me hasn’t completely erased my humanity. Not yet, anyway.

No. If it ever comes to it, I won’t be the blade that cuts down a righteous man of the cloth to atone for my own sins. Killing Father McDonagh was instinctual. Born from a raw, primal need to protect the people I love.

However, killing Alejandro? That would be something else entirely. That would be murder. Cold. Calculated. Premeditated. I won’t have an innocent man’s blood on my hands. And like hell I’ll let Stella carry that stain on hers.

All I can do now is have faith that Alejandro’s love for Enzo outweighs whatever guilt claws at his conscience.

When I look toward the altar again, I catch him glancing in my direction as if he knows exactly what’s circling in my head. His eyes land on me, and a frown darkens his face.

That look says it all. There’s no place for me in His house. A monster like me doesn’t deserve God’s grace, let alone the right to set foot in His church.

So when the congregation queues for communion, and the wafer and wine are passed like holy absolution, I don’t dare move out of my seat. I don’t insult him by pretending I’m worthy of it. Because Alejandro knows. Just like Father McDonagh knew it, too.

I’m beyond redemption.

And no amount of prayer or sacred communion will change that.