The Devil's Daughter
1117 Words
Luca stood helpless as he stared at her--Isabella Romano.
He recognized her at once. The same beautiful woman covered in sorrow, standing and lone in the hospital chapel a few days ago with rosary falling between her fingers as she seemed to be pleading God to hear her. He had not imagined he would ever see her again,--in the house, above all, of the man who had broken her own.
Now it all became clear.
She is the daughter of Enzo Romano.
The offspring of sinful sin itself.
What are you doing here? in a low tone.
She c****d her head with a little smirk pulling her lips. Father, I might well ask you the same.
He bristled. Stop calling me that.
“Why not? You had a collar three days go.”
What she said hurt not because she was not right, but because she was right. Lucas did not know what he was. A priest? A son? A man sandwiched between two legacies not of his deliberate choice?
Well, I get here because a person is on his death bed.
She drew nearer, and her eyes were sharp like the scanning of him. You came here because you were called by your father. Don Alessandro never asks in vain.”
And you? he said. Why are you here in this house?
She stared more seriously. It is none of his business I am here. I came to get answers.”
Luca frowned. “About what?”
The jaw of Isabella became taut. Concerning the death of my mother. Of secrets my father Would kill to keep Buried.”
There was something that had changed between them-- some invisible cord drawn taut with agony and the past.
And then you and I are both chasing ghosts, Luca said at last.
A moment of silence came.
“I didn’t think priests got involved in mafia business,” she said.
“They don’t.” He gazed down. Sons do.
Her head nodded. Then perhaps we are more alike than I imagined."
Neither said anything, but descending the staircase each step was taken with the drag of history behind it. It was cold night air outside. Isabella went in the direction of a sleek black car, but stopped with her hand on the door.
And she said, never looking him in the eye, You are not safe here.
Luca eyebrows. Do you think I am not aware of that?
I believe you do not realize how really unsafe it is. She turned around and faced him. But Enzo is aware; Enzo knows you are here. Once he knows you are the son of Alessandro…”
I fear nothing of your father.
And she drew nearer, speaking sharply. And then you are a fool.
Her eyes were not unfriendly, they were imploring.
I know what Enzo does to anyone who poses a threat to him. He will be after you, Luca. Not God himself can stop him.”
He looked into her eyes with an attempt to see the truth through her eyes. Why do thou warn me?
She did not respond instantly.
You have a choice, you think, she said in a low tone. Why, you don t. This world-it does not allow a man to walk away without blemish.”
And with it she got into her car and drove away into the darkness, leaving the echo of her words back.
But sleep that night was not whole.
Luca threw himself on the little bed in his monastic cell, turning over and over in a sort of muddy spinning-wheel. He could hear the voice of his father--She was not killed with sickness. She was killed.” But who? Why? And what had Enzo Romano to do with it?
At an early hour of the morning he arose, and dressing in black, knelt before the little altar under the cross. The candle light flickered over his old Bible, but the words smeared.
How then was he to preach about forgiveness when the only lesson he knew in the world was about revenge?
He was tormented by the smile of his mother. The tenderness on her voice, as she taught him prayers.
The manner in which she never mentioned Alessandro again. Now he was wondering whether her silence was defense--or fear.
He flexed his muscles. He has to be sure of the truth.
At noon he had returned to the estate.
Alessandro was not asleep, breathing heavily with tubes running out of his arms. Luca entered and the nurse nodded and walked out of the room, being unheard.
Alessandro rasped, “you returned.”
Luca replied, I want the truth.
The lips of the old man went up. Naturally you do.”
Who killed my mother.” Luca demanded. “Tell me.”
Alessandro looked darkly. That was not the way it should have been. I told Enzo to leave a message, not to kill her.”
Luca felt cold blood in his veins. Did Enzo order her death?
He despatched men to frighten her. All they were supposed to do was to take something. A necklace. A photo. Yet one of them got frightened. She made an attempt to struggle. He… He went and stabbed her.”
Luca drew a pace back, hands quivering. “You knew. and you made me grow up and think she was ill.
You were a child. What benefit would truth have done?”
Luca croaked. It would have given me justice.”
“No, Luca. It would have been a death sentence to you.” Alessandro bent forward with glittering eyes. And even now, slipping behind Enzo, It will.
Luca has looked away, gasping.
“He’s protected. Powerful. and now he is sure you exist.”
It is all due to you, Luca said.
Alessandro nodded. That is why, you will require protection.
Luca was turned back, pounding-hearted. “From who?”
A faint knock was heard behind the door. A shadow entered, broad of shoulder, bald headed, viper-eyed.
Alessandro said, pointing to one of the group, a young man, a fresco painter. It was called the group of the men of the San Marco, because San Marco was the European name of the group. This was Matteo. He will have your back. Until you choose what to do.”
Matteo looked long, hard at Luca. You make up your mind soon, padre. Time is running out on you.”
On the same night Luca came out of his chamber to find a package waiting.
No return address. Just his name, handwritten in red ink.
He opened it with shaking fingers.
Inside was a single item.
His mother’s rosary.
Covered in fresh blood.
- Writer
