Itâs Time | Self Para.
The Church was bathed in light.
It bled through the stained glass. Brought to life, perhaps, the most beautifully harrowing depiction of Christâs Crucifixion heâd ever seen.
And only He could have known how long heâd stared.
How much time would pass before he saw it again? Would he ever? It was strange, given the grand scheme of things, that questions like these were still the ones that plagued his mind.
The echo of footsteps soon became apparent from the back of the Church. Unmistakable. Thin, delicate heels in a slow, but uniform beat. Each step brought them closer but he didnât take the moment required to turn and look. They stopped, only to be followed by the soft sound of a feminine sigh. The color of her dress caught the corner of his eye; impossible, in its utter boldness, not to...
How had she still managed to drop to a knee?
Modestly shrouded in what could only be described as being akin to a khimar, the woman made her way along his pew in elegant motion. Until sheâd reached out to touch his shoulder lightly, he could have only assumed identity. Now he knew for sure. Fingertips squeezed gently, and it struck him as utterly absurd how much could be conveyed through the tiny gesture. Especially from her.
âIt would appear God has answered my prayers,â he said, words accompanied by an almost bitter sweet smile.
âI thought I might find you here.â The brunette didnât look at him, nor, rather more apparently, did she acknowledge his attempt at a joke.Â
âDonât you have an Awards ceremony to be attending?â
Sal turned his head just in time to catch her wry smile. âIâm here to ask you to be my date.â
They both laughed quietly at this, neither with enough conviction to feel anything but empty. She stopped first. When she did, and for the first time since her arrival, Alessia Auditore turned to look at him.Â
It was a strange sort of relationship they shared. Long before their bitter business rivalry, they had been good friends. Yet their paths had pulled them apart in slow torture. Hardly unexpected, in the shadow of their last names, and yet as unwelcome as though it had crept up on them with cruel surprise. It seemed unlikely they would have ever wound up hating each other, but both had made it abundantly clear, as soon as the lines had been drawn, that the other would always take a back-seat to family.
It hurt him to see his daughters making the same mistakes.Â
Friendships always felt like theyâd last forever until they didnât.
But Alessia wasnât here as the typically smug competitor. Alessia was here as the young girl who had once looked to him as a brother, and an role-model, and everything in-between. A woman who had since grown enough to respect and admire the things he had achieved, even if they were, occasionally, at the expense of her own pride.Â
âPolizzi told me.â She rarely stated the obvious. âHe also told me that they arenât fighting to keep you here.â
Salvatore Mancini was not the only one with connections at the FBI. Her reach was arguably more extensive, and he couldnât help but wonder if that had offered her knowledge of his impending indictment long before his own warning had come...
âThey want to put me on trial in Italy. Iâm a prize,â he said coolly, words having little to do with an ego. He was. In another Launceston era: one that would have been hotly contested. âBut the DAâs Office has enough on their plate, and a track record that doesnât bode well with the hopes of successfully prosecuting a Mafia boss.â
A silence hung heavily in the air.Â
One day, it would be her...
âHow long are you looking at?â
âMore than I have left.â
Saying the words felt like taking a knife to the gut. And yet with her, they still rolled off the tongue with far more ease than they could with his children. And that was exactly why he hadnât told them. How was he supposed to explain that if--and it seemed increasingly likely with each new meeting--his lawyers couldnât find a way to impart a God-given miracle, he wouldnât be coming home until it was to join their mother? Â
He watched the woman as she pressed her fingertips into the side of her head. Sheâd gone for the eye before the stark realization she was wearing make-up set in, and it hadnât gone unnoticed. How much she had changed...
The exasperation, disappointment, sympathy...it was all genuine. Obvious in her tone, too. What would have happened if the roles had been reversed?
âTheyâre coming today. Why are you alone?âÂ
âIâm not alone,â he mused, gesturing to her with a hand. It earned a kind of frown he hadnât seen since she was a kid. âI thought someone might find me here, I just didnât expect it to be you.â
âYour girls would want to be with you, Sal...â
âMy girls do not need to see their father dragged away in handcuffs,â he assured firmly. âThis city has punished them enough already, Al. I donât plan on adding to it.â
The two fell, once again, into silence.Â
Alessia held out her hand, palm up, and after only a brief hesitation, Salvatore had reached out and taken it. Intertwined, they fell against the pew, and into the gap between them. God, how had it come to this? Why couldnât they be as untouchable as everybody thought?
âThey should have been here an hour ago,â Salvatore scoffed bitterly, shaking his head as he took note of the time.
They couldnât even get that right.
âIâll wait,â Alessia assured, eyes, once again, focusing toward the Altar.
There was a lot to be said for that; her willingness to take the risk of remaining at his side. Whilst neither had heard anything to insinuate she was next on their hit list, Auditore was an even bigger prize than himself, and they both knew it damn well. It wouldnât have been a stretch of the imagination to think they might pick her up on some bullshit charge, before flinging a case theyâd been building at her, as though God Himself had blessed them with two birds in that moment theyâd set foot into the Church...
Salvatore appreciated. More than she would accept.
It was probably a good job that footsteps had, once again, started to echo from behind. The last thing he needed was for his thoughts to drift to the things heâd miss. Not just the things heâd physically leave behind, but the moments his lack of freedom would deprive him of. Walking his girls down the aisle, holding his grandchildren...being there for them when all they needed was their father to tell them things would get better.
How many more times could he let them down?
Alessia turned her head back to clock the intruders. If her looks could kill, perhaps heâd have been off the hook...
âGet out of here, Al, or weâll book you too,â Corrado Polizzi, the RICO bitch she had in her pocket, warned.Â
âGo fuck yourself, Polizzi,â she shot back.
Salvatore probably would have cringed at the use of such language in Church under any other circumstances. Instead, he found himself admiring it a lot more when it wasnât him, or his brother, on the receiving end.
âItâs time. You know how this is going to go down, Mancini, so letâs do it with a little dignity,â the agent said, tone softening somewhat. The Italians had been good to him, and it seemed he hadnât forgotten it now it counted... âI donât want to make this any worse than it has to be.â
It was funny...heâd had his rights read to him so many times it felt like a ridiculous routine. Aside from a quick spell in prison during his twenties, however, theyâd never managed to make anything stick. Yet now? With each word uttered, he sunk further and further into the realization that this time was different. That this time was likely going to be the last.
God, he thought heâd prepared himself. That heâd readied himself for this in the time heâd been given to make his peace and plans to fight in a strange and equal measure. But heâd been wrong. He wasnât ready.Â
Could he ever have been?
Polizzi encouraged Sal to his feet with a giant hand rested on his shoulder. Al followed suit, and before he knew it, his arm was being dragged behind his back as though he were an animal to be restrained.
There was so much he wanted to say.
Polizzi waited impatiently.
The pause lingered awkwardly, before he finally sighed. It wasnât enough.
âYou two donât have to fight each other.â
Salvatore squeezed her delicate hand, before finally, and rather reluctantly, letting go. Almost as soon as he had, Polizzi took his second arm carefully, locking it behind his back.
The woman stared back at him, and he could see it in her eyes that his words had resonated. Struck a nerve, without doubt. Neither needed to clarify to whom he was referring.
As Polizzi urged him to turn, ready to be guided from the familiarity of his Church, the Mancini Don offered her his goodbye.
âSo donât.â
