Konstantine crossed the Piazza della Santissima Annunziata with Stefano at his side. The air was cool and the light dim from the cloudy day. A moped rumbled past as they turned the corner and the church came into view.
His church. Konstantine had chosen it for its modest stone exterior. Nothing about it would invite wandering tourists. The façade was simple and smooth, unremarkable with one exception. He loved the beautiful stained-glass window depicting the Virgin Mary with her hands open in welcome.
HisEvery morning he admired it before he entered the church.
This moment of serenity and reverence was cut short as cries broke through his musings. The children were yelling, becoming nothing more than a pile of kicking limbs on the steps outside the entrance.
The group of children who u
