Chapter Sixteen

Rob

The cathedral is hushed and the air redolent with incense when I step inside. And the atmosphere inside reverent. I'm not hugely religious, but respect for the faith is one of the lasting legacies of my mother. She was very devout and always made me attend mass with her. Not that I minded all that much, I've always been fascinated with faith and I guess, in my own way, I have my own.

If nothing else, I've always found the counsel of the priests comforting and wise.

I'd started coming to St. Agnes' shortly after I moved to LA. Mostly as a way of honoring my mother. But over the weeks and months, I formed a bond with the parish priest – Father Gregory. Like me, he's a native New Yorker who was transferred out to this parish only a few years before I arrived – and he's well aware of the Rossi family legacy.

But, after a few tense and awkward conversations, I managed to prove to him that I am not my father's son and won't be carrying on that legacy of blood and violence. That I want my own legacy to be very, very different. And ever since then, our relationship has been solid. I come to him when I need advice and he's always happy to talk.

I walk to the stoup on the wall beside the door and dip my fingers into the Holy Water, making the sign of the cross before I enter the church proper. Walking into the dimly lit church, I let my gaze wander around the pews, to the pulpit, to the stained glass windows, letting the feeling of awe and reverence wash through me.

Churches have always been places that have brought me a sense of peace – a sense of peace I don't find in many other places. The pews are empty – save for one man. The man I actually came to see – Father Gregory.

Walking down the aisle, I slip into the pew next to him. He looks up from the iPad in his hand and gives me a wide smile.

“Roberto Rossi,” he says. “Wonderful to see you. It's been a few weeks.”

I nod. “That it has, Father,” I say and motion to the tablet. “Working on a new sermon?”

“Actually, no,” he says. “I'm setting my lineup for the fantasy football league some of the local priests have going.”

I laugh. “You're kidding me.”

“I'm not,” he says. “There's a lot of money riding on this.”

“I didn't know priests were allowed to gamble.”

“Technically, we're not,” he says, a smile upon his face. “But the winnings all go to charity, and since Archbishop Mulcahey is a big football fan and has a team in the league, he tends to look the other way.”

“Unbelievable,” I say, shaking my head and chuckling.

“Say, maybe you can help me,” he says. “I'm debating about starting Rogers, that wideout from San Antonio. The kid from Detroit, Samson, he's been on a roll recently and might be a better choice. I'm torn and don't know who to start.”

I look at him, still amused by Father Gregory. But then he looks at me with a twinkle in his eye and gives me a grin – and asks the question I just had a feeling was coming.

“Hey, if I remember correctly, you told me you're friends with the owner of the Copperheads, aren't you?”

I nod. “Brady Keating,” I say. “Yeah, he and I went to college and played ball together. That was a long time ago – before he became the Copperheads owner. He's a good man. Smart. Loves his football.”

“And he sounds exactly like Matthew McConaughey, which I'm sure doesn't hurt him with the ladies,” Father Gregory laughs.

I shrug. “He's a one-woman kind of a man,” I say. “He and Amanda got married about a year ago. I was in their wedding.”

“Well, isn't that wonderful,” he says. “Do you talk to him often? Do you talk a lot of football?”

“Father,” I say, “Are you trying to get around to asking me to give you some inside information?”

“Asking? No,” he says. “That would be unethical, of course. However, if you were to spontaneously volunteer some information you might have, well, who am I to stop you?”

I laugh out loud, my voice echoing around the church and Father Gregory just smiles at me.

“Fine, but this better get me out of a few Hail Mary's later,” I say. “Samson tweaked his hamstring in practice this week and is going to be slowed up a bit this week. Now, I talked to Brady recently, and from what he told me, Rogers had been nursing an ankle injury the first few weeks of the season. He's apparently, fully healed now and the coach is going to be throwing to him this week – a lot. He's their primary playmaker, so you're probably going to get more points if you start him.”

“Excellent,” Father Gregory beams. “That's perfect. Just what I needed to know. I'm going to absolutely smoke Father Thomas over at St. Augustine's this week. And hopefully, that will be enough to put me into the league lead.”

I just laugh and shake my head again. “Highly unethical, Father.”

“Oh, I think God will be okay with it,” he says. “It is, after all, for a good cause.”

The priest sets his lineup and then sets the iPad down on the pew next to him. He turns and looks at me.

“So, what is on your mind today, Roberto?”

I sigh and lean back against the pew, not entirely sure where to start. There are so many thoughts and feelings running through my head that I'm having trouble getting them into any sort of orderly fashion.

“Given the time it's taking you to answer,” he says, “I'll assume it's something fairly heavy.”

“Yeah,” I reply. “It is.”

“Well, just start at the beginning. That always seems to be the best way.”

I take a breath and let it out slowly. And then launch into my story, beginning with running into Landon and meeting Harper at the club. I even tell him about the circumstances surrounding Harper coming to stay with me – I leave nothing out.

Father Gregory listens without comment or judgment. He's good like that. It's one reason why I continue coming back to church – I don't have to fear him condemning me. Especially, for things I did not do or have no control over. There are precious few people in my life I can speak this freely around. Actually, Cordelia might be the only one. And I value Father Gregory's wisdom and advice. I learned to lean on the words of my priest – another holdover from mom.

“That's quite the tale,” Gregory says when I've finished.

“And quite the predicament.”

He nods. “Indeed,” he says. “Have you ever considered just absolving this Landon of his debt to you?”

I shake my head. “Not good business, Father,” I say. “Word gets around that I'm wiping out loans and all of the sudden, everybody who owes thinks they can get away without paying. And that's quite a bit of money.”

“I understand,” he says. “But you're divesting yourself of your father's business practices anyway. And since these are old debts and you're not doing the loansharking thing anymore, why not just wipe the slate clean and start fresh?”

I sigh. “It comes down to reputation, honestly, Father,” I say. “I'm not following my father's – business model – anymore. But I also can't let people think I'm weak. A pushover. That sort of reputation can and will carry over into the legitimate business world I'm involved in. It's unfortunate because a clean break from the past would be nice, but I have to maintain a certain reputation. A certain image.”

He nods as if he understands – and maybe he does. He's from New York, knows the life I came from, and knows all the pitfalls inherent in it. Obviously, not as intimately as I do, but Father Gregory is a smart man.

“My question, I guess,” I start, “is should I tell Harper the truth? I feel like she deserves to know what Landon had planned for her. That way, she can make an informed decision when and if he comes to pay off his debt and pick her up.”

“It sounds to me like you have the answer to your question then.”

“So, you think I should tell her.”

“It sounds like you think you should.”

I sigh and sit back, letting the thoughts swirl around my head. In my heart, I know it's the right thing to do. But, what I'm questioning, are my motives for doing it. The one thing that is crystal clear to me is that I'm attracted to Harper. So, would I be telling her because she deserves to know? Or because I know it would drive a wedge between her and Landon – with the hope that she'll let me be there to pick up the pieces?

At this point, I really don't know.

“You care for this girl, don't you?” Gregory asks, arching an eyebrow at me.

I shrug. “I don't really know her, Father,” I say. “But she's – different. Special somehow. When I look at her, she takes my breath away. It's not like anything I've ever felt before.”

“Tell me this,” he says, “if she were to go back to this Landon, do you think he'd turn her over to the pornographer again?”

“I honestly don't know.”

“What does your gut tell you?”

“My gut tells me that he'd do it in a heartbeat,” I say. “I think in some twisted way, he cares for her. But Landon is somebody who looks out for himself first. Always. And if he can pocket a large chunk of change in exchange for Harper, he will. And I have no doubts that Max is going to offer up just the right financial incentive to get him really thinking about it.”

“Well, if you want my unvarnished, un-sugarcoated advice –”

“Always,” I say. “That's why I come to you- you always give it to me straight.”

“Then, I'd say that you have an obligation to Harper to inform her. To tell her everything you've just explained to me.”

“And if she doesn't believe me?”

He shrugs. “You can't control what she says or does. Or what she chooses to believe,” he says. “All you can do is give her the truth and let her do with it what she will.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” I say and laugh softly.

“My boy, Harper has to make her own decisions in this life,” he says. “And she has to decide whether or not she's going to accept the truth when she hears it. Another question is, what will you do about Landon and the pornographer?”

My laugh is rueful. “I know how my father would have handled them.”

“Yes, but you're not your father,” he says. “Much to your credit.”

Running a hand through my hair, I sigh. “Yeah, sometimes it would be easier though.”

Father Gregory puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Doing the right thing – the righteous thing – is seldom easy,” he says. “But in the end, it's worth it.”

I nod and get to my feet, extending my hand to the priest. He takes it, gives me a firm shake and covers it with his other, giving me an earnest look.

“You are a good man, Roberto,” he says. “Take care to never forget that. Don't ever lose yourself in that darkness you were born into.”

“I'm doing my best, Father.”

“I know you are, son,” he says.

“Thank you, Father Gregory,” I say. “As always.”

He nods. “And thank you for your help with my fantasy team,” he says with a mischievous grin. “I can't wait to do a little trash talking this week.”

I walk out of the church laughing – and with my soul feeling a little bit lighter.