The Vows We Break - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,64

though his stuff remains close to his patch in front of the store.

“Nothing good, Father. Nothing good.” He’s starting to slur even worse now. “I don’t know how I stayed alive this long. Maybe it was to see you—” His grin makes a cheeky appearance. “You going to save my soul, Father?”

The words resonate more than I could even imagine.

“Only God can help me now,” he mutters.

A hand lands on my shoulder. She squeezes me there, reminding me I’m not alone, and, for the final time as a priest, I give the Viaticum to a man who was forgotten by the many, and who’ll be remembered by the few.

Nine

Andrea

The EMTs turn up their noses when they see Gianni. His stench is certainly memorable, but the way they handle his body has me wanting to slap them.

Both men cover him up before they turn to Savio and mutter, “He’s got a gunshot wound. It’s a crime scene, Father.”

I don’t focus on the conversation, mostly I just watch Savio as he stands on the street, because from his house, tucked away in the kitchen, it’s hard to hear.

He’s in shock, and he’s going through the motions as, reading their lips, the EMT talks about crime scenes and the police.

I’m surprised they’re giving this much weight to the death of one homeless man, because if the police’s treatment is anything like theirs? It will be an open and shut case—as in, the case is opened, then the file is dumped into a drawer that’s snapped shut.

The carabinieri do come, however, and maybe my eyes deceive me—but they never do—I can see they respect Savio. Maybe they’re here for him.

Is that even possible?

That the police like my serial killer?

My lips twitch at the thought, but they don’t see me because Savio sent me back to the house when I started shivering when the EMTs pulled up. I didn’t argue, mostly because I knew he wanted to be left alone, and while it’s in my nature to want to crowd him, to make him feel better, I knew I couldn’t.

Whatever Gianni was to him, Savio feels his loss, and as a result, I mourn Gianni too.

When Savio returns to the house, I can feel his anger, and I know what’s going to happen.

Fate.

It keeps messing with us.

Here I was, tempting him toward the straight and narrow, then a capo walks through the doors, confesses to murder, and a homeless man Savio cares for is evidently one of the victims.

Only God can help me now.

Those words… Savio can’t know what they mean to me.

It’s such an unusual phrase. Okay, it might not seem like it is, but thinking about it, I know it’s just not something you hear every day.

‘For God’s sake.’

‘Goddammit.’

Even, at a push, ‘God, help me.’

But, ‘Only God can help me now?’

I legitimately know of only one time I’ve ever heard that particular phrasing.

Once.

The day Linda tore from my apartment, got abducted by her husband, and he killed her.

It was why she’d run away from me. She’d been pacing back and forth in my apartment in downtown Chicago, looking out of the window as though she half-expected him to pop up out of nowhere.

And she hadn’t been wrong, had she?

He’d evidently been waiting on her outside.

My throat closes at the thought, because I remember her whispering those words, remember her tears, the sobs that made her body heave, so I’d shared my truth with her.

And she’d been more scared of me than her husband.

I release a shaky sigh, torn up once more by Linda’s death.

Savio isn’t the only person with death staining his soul.

It’s my cross to bear as well.

The door slams closed and I peer down the hall, not moving from my position at the kitchen table. There’s a scant view of the road where the police and the coroner are working on removing the body, but I moved away from the window when the crowd started to gather—it was impossible to see anything then.

When he strides into the kitchen, his goal is the sink. Considering his hands are covered in blood, I’m not surprised, and I move over to him, nudging him away as I twist the faucet, let the water run, and then pour soap in my hand.

As I cleanse him, my focus on his fingers, I’m surprised he lets me, but at my side, he seems to be vibrating. Like an animal trapped in a cage.

I don’t look at him, don’t bother.

I know what he wants.

Blood.

Corelli’s.

And I don’t blame him.

“Tonight?”