No Stone Unturned: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eleven Page 33

  At that moment, Cardinal Lazo exited the pope’s study. He was livid, his face red with anger, his fists clenched at his side. His shoes slapped the floor as he stormed out. The papal assistants who were waiting outside the pope’s study moved inside to attend to him after the cardinal left.

  Slash waited until Lazo passed, not even looking his way. When the cardinal strode into the marbled hallway, Slash fell into step beside him.

  Lazo stopped, recognizing him immediately. “You,” he said with barely contained fury. “You did this.”

  Slash acknowledged the statement with a dip of his head. “I wanted to make sure you knew that.”

  “You’ll never get away with this.”

  “I believe I already have.”

  “I will expose you. You will regret this.”

  The time for the cardinal’s threats had ended. Slash cut in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. “I’d advise you never to threaten me again. If you ever come after me or mine again, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

  Lazo scoffed at him. “So, you’re going to kill me? You’re nothing more than a monster. You use violence to get your way, but you go against all that God stands for. You pretend to be sickened by it, but you’re not. You’re going to burn in hell someday.”

  “Maybe I will,” Slash answered lightly. “But not today.” Still, a part of him wondered if Lazo was right. Perhaps violence was an inherent part of his nature. But he wasn’t a monster. He’d never used violence as an end to itself. He’d used it only to prevent further violence. That wasn’t who he was.

  It’s never who I was.

  The realization hit him hard. Then, just as unexpectedly, he felt lighter—like at least one burden he’d been carrying his entire life had been lifted from his soul.

  “You should have sided with me,” Lazo continued. “You could have been a great asset to the Vatican.”

  He looked at Lazo with disgust. “I’m already an excellent asset to the Vatican. But you did get one thing right, Cardinal.” He clapped a hand on Lazo’s shoulder. The gesture was seemingly harmless, but his thumb rested near a particularly vulnerable spot on the cardinal’s windpipe. “I’m good at violence. Very good. You, perhaps more than most, know what I’m capable of doing, and I’m just looking for an excuse with you, so don’t push me. Are we clear?”

  The cardinal’s eyes narrowed with hate, but he didn’t answer. Slash pressed his thumb down. He wasn’t against using the threat of violence if it served a purpose. “I asked if we’re clear.”

  Fear crossed the cardinal’s face at the pressure. “Y-yes. We’re clear.”

  “Good. Then we’re done here.” Slash lifted his hand. “I don’t ever want to see you again. Be grateful you have a retirement to enjoy, because I assure you, that wasn’t my first choice.”

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Lexi

  I looked up worriedly from my laptop as Slash walked in. “How did it go?” I asked.

  He pressed a kiss on the top of my head. “Excellent. Lazo is finished.” He looked over my shoulder with interest. “What are you doing?”

  I tapped on some keys. “A little research of my own. I’ve found something interesting in my research about Father Armando. Mayor Colella told us he and the pope met at the seminary in Salerno. But did you know how they met?”

  Slash thought for a moment. “I think the Holy Father had been assigned to teach a class, and Emilio was one of his students.”

  “Correct. Father Armando was one of the Holy Father’s star pupils. They later served on several committees together and became friends. I think the Holy Father was a mentor figure for him.”

  “That would explain why Emilio was the first new cardinal the Holy Father elevated after becoming pope,” Slash said.

  “It would. Do you happen to know how old Father Armando was when he became a priest?”

  Slash looked at me, clearly puzzled by my line of questioning. “Not exactly. He was young. He told me he knew he wanted to be a priest by the time he was sixteen.”

  I pulled up a file on my laptop. “Slash, take a look at this photo I found online. Father Armando looks so young in this photo. What does santo trio mean?” I angled my laptop toward Slash so he could see it.

  “It means holy trio.”

  He stared at the photo of three young men dressed in black cassocks and laughing. “That’s definitely Father Armando on the left, and the Holy Father on the right, but who’s that?” He tapped on a young, handsome, dark-haired man who stood between the other two, his face in a wide smile, his arms thrown around the shoulders of his friends.

  He didn’t see it, but I did. I swallowed hard. I’d seen that smile on the man in the middle before...on Slash and somewhere else.

  “Do you know who he is?” I asked quietly.

  Slash looked at me for a long moment before sitting down on the bed, sliding my laptop onto his lap. “Not yet, but I will.”

  * * *

  When we arrived in Genoa, it was nearly nine o’clock at night. Slash drove to the apartment and found a parking space about four blocks from Father Armando’s apartment. We followed a young man into the complex and found ourselves standing in front of Father Armando’s door, looking at each other.

  “Do you really want to do this?” I asked Slash. “We stopped Lazo. We don’t have to go any further.”

  He pressed his mouth together, his jaw visibly tensing. After a moment, he raised a fist to the door and knocked once.

  Father Armando answered a few moments later, looking exhausted. The age lines around his mouth and eyes had carved deeply into his skin. His thick black hair looked grayer than it had been just a few days prior. This situation hadn’t been easy on any of us.

  “Nicolo. Lexi,” he said, sweeping out an arm. “I’ve been expecting you. Please, come in.”

  We crossed the threshold and he ushered us toward the living room couch. Slash and I perched next to each other, our knees touching. Father Armando joined us, choosing a chair directly across from us. For an awkward minute, we sat there looking at each other, and a strained silence enveloped the room as we all waited for someone to speak. I certainly wasn’t going to say anything, so I kept quiet, trying to remain calm for Slash’s sake.

  Slash spoke first. “The Holy Father said you had answers for me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small leather pouch the pope had given him, tossing it onto the coffee table. “Do you know what this means?”

  For a moment, we all stared at the pouch as if it would detonate. Maybe it would. But instead of vaporizing us, it would blow up what we knew of our lives.

  Anguish crossed the priest’s face. Apparently, the pouch triggered a strong reaction. “Nicolo, first, I want you to know how deeply sorry I am. For everything.”

  “I know.” Dark smudges of exhaustion were visible beneath Slash’s eyes, but his jaw remained set in grim determination. “Let’s just do this, okay?”

  Father Armando bowed his head in compliance. “Of course. But you should know the Holy Father granted me special dispensation to tell you this information.”

  Slash didn’t indicate surprise or concern that the Pope had released Father Armando from his vow. I guess he must have expected it. He just looked ready to have this conversation over. Honestly, I couldn’t blame him.

  “Just tell me who my father is, Emilio.”

  I looked between the two men. Their eyes were locked onto each other, neither willing to be the first to look away.

  “Your father is the Savior of Salerno, Cristian Descantes,” Father Armando finally said, his voice resigned.

  Slash half-laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “Oh, the irony. I have a saint for a father. I’m not sure whether to be amused or genuinely concerned for my soul.”

  Father Armando watched him carefully. “You don’t sound surprised.
Did you already know?”

  “Lexi figured it out last night. I wanted to see if you’d confirm it. Why all the secrecy? What’s the point?” Slash’s voice held a bitter edge. “Why couldn’t you or the Holy Father just tell me?”

  “I was bound by my vows, as I told you.”

  “But you weren’t the only one who knew,” Slash said. “You said the Holy Father granted you dispensation to tell me.”

  “Yes. He knew, as well. As you know, the Holy Father listens to confession. He heard mine, and I heard Cristian’s and your mother’s. However, my vows would not allow me to share your parents’ confessions, even with their son.”

  I put a light hand on Slash’s arm, feeling the muscles in his forearm contracting and tightening under my fingertips. I wondered what he was thinking. How many people knew his background and had kept it from him? And why?

  “I tried to do right by Cristian with you, but I failed miserably. I am not worthy of him or you. I’m sorry for what you’ve had to endure, Nicolo. I wasn’t nearly the man your father was, but I knew he would have kept his vows even unto death. I could do no less.” Father Armando cleared his throat, taking a moment to compose himself. “You have no idea how much you remind me of him. Il sognatore, the dreamer with the face of a Roman god. That’s what we called him, to his great embarrassment. Cristian never wanted that kind of attention.”

  Father Armando paused, his expression softening, and I imagined he was remembering a time long ago when the boys teased each other in fun. “Your father was the godliest man I’ve ever known. He touched my life profoundly. We grew up together in Salerno—went to the same school, played on the same sports teams, dated the same girls. He was not just my friend, he was a brother to me. I entered the priesthood first, after I had my calling at sixteen. He came to the church later. Looking back, I believe he was called to the priesthood for the important mission of teaching humility, sacrifice and the grace of God to those of us who would someday rise in the church. He was given to us for that very purpose. I can’t explain it, but there was something about Cristian—a beauty, a genuine goodness that came from inside. People from every walk of life were drawn to him. It was as if he had an inner light, a magnetism. People wanted to be near him, and he welcomed them all. I don’t know what he saw in me or why I was chosen to be his best friend. I didn’t deserve it—but he honored me anyway. And I wasn’t the only one who loved him. As soon as he met the Holy Father, Cristian became like a son to him. That’s just the way he was. And when he died, you became ours. A son to me and a grandson to the Holy Father. We both love you with all our hearts.”

  Father Armando’s deep voice shook with emotion. I gripped Slash’s arm a little tighter, but he said nothing.

  Father Armando reached up and held the cross around his neck tightly. “I see God working through you. It’s come full circle, don’t you see? The Savior of Salerno’s son has now saved others. You are his living, breathing miracle.”

  “If he were such a saint, why he did abandon me?” Slash finally spoke, his voice tight with emotion. “My own father?”

  I glanced at Father Armando and winced at the deep lines of pain etched on his face. “He never knew about you. He never knew he had a son.”

  Slash recoiled, as if someone had punched him. I’d thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, but I was wrong. A lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t begin to imagine how Slash was feeling. I pressed my thigh tighter against his to let him know I was with him.

  Always.

  “Why?” Slash finally managed to ask. “Why didn’t he know about me?”

  Father Armando paused, as if readying himself for the revelation. “Your mother didn’t want him to know.”

  I hadn’t meant to get involved in the conversation, but my indignation slipped out anyway. “Why? How could she keep something like that from him?” I asked. “What could possibly justify not letting him know he had a son?”

  Father Armando didn’t meet my accusing gaze. Instead he looked at Slash. “Your mother and Cristian were no longer engaged when she discovered she was pregnant, not long after the second incident.”

  “What second incident?” Slash asked.

  “It was a few years after his rescue of the children on the bus at Salerno. Cristian was already a national hero, but he’d not yet had his calling to the church. Cristian once again came upon another life-and-death situation with a half-dozen lives at stake. This time, he didn’t save everyone, he couldn’t. He believed himself to be a failure. No one blamed him, but the souls of those who died weighed heavily on him. He came to me confessing he thought God had used a similar incident to lead him back to the church, believing it was a lesson for him to learn how to save people, not just those whose lives were in immediate jeopardy. That was his calling, and if he were ever required to face such a terrible dilemma again, he wanted to be ready to do God’s will.”

  Father Armando pressed both hands over his eyes, as if they burned with weariness. My own breathing had become shallow, a tightness squeezing my chest. I glanced at Slash, but his face was a mask of stone. He sat with lethal calmness, not moving, not saying anything. It was impossible to tell how he was processing this information about his father, about his life.

  “Cristian changed after that incident,” Father Armando continued, his voice wavering. “He became deeply conflicted between his love for your mother and feeling led to devote his life to the church. Ultimately, he chose the church and the devout life of a priest. It was truly an anguished decision for him. When he and your mother parted ways, Cristian never knew your mother was pregnant, and it was her decision not to tell him. She believed it was too late. His heart belonged to the church, his life meant for a different purpose. Her path, too, led in a direction other than family. But before she left, she needed to confess. So, she chose me.”

  Father Armando picked up a glass of water from the coffee table and took a sip, his hand trembling. “For the rest of his life, Cristian made good on his promise to God. Not only did he save the children of Salerno, but over the years, countless others to whom he ministered. In the end, he sacrificed himself to save seventy-four more children and sixteen adults at Lombardy. I know it seems difficult to believe, but I assure you, Nicolo, God had a plan for him. Your father was truly a saint. In fact, he was the greatest man I’ve ever known...until I met his son.”

  In my opinion, it didn’t seem a fair plan that God would put that kind of guilt and devotion into a man’s heart and then give him a son he would never know and a mother who would give him away. Then again, if God hadn’t brought the two of them together, Slash wouldn’t have been born, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with him and we wouldn’t be here having this discussion. But it seemed like an awful lot of pain and anguish for a story that might have turned out a lot happier if different choices had been made. But I supposed that was the way life went—every decision we made took us down a road of our own choosing, impacting those who came after us in ways we might have never expected.

  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 b
e 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 you have and will save.”