THE PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA

{ CHAPTER.  TWELVE }  -  [ PART.  1 ]                                                                    A brilliant white hue saturated the immediate surroundings. Angelica raised her head to see the sister's outline with the rock poised over her. She rubbed her eyes in disbelief as her predicament dawned on her. She sprung up from the wall and staggered back, immersing herself in the light. For what felt like aeons there was no movement, just the chill of dead air crackling like foot-steps on a frosted lake. The headlights switched off and the car doors swung open. The women could see nothing but dancing lights in front of their eyes. Angelica! chanted a mocking voice that raised the hairs on the nape of her neck. Two men left the car and came to a stop by Sister Celeste. Angelica could see two outlines haloed by the light still playing tricks on her, but the familiar, chilling voice had already forewarned her. Both men gradually came into focus. Her wide eyes shot from one to th

{ CHAPTER.  ELEVEN }  - [ PART.  1 ]                                            For the height of summer, it was an unusually hazy night with the starlight and moon-light eclipsed behind drifting clouds. While many of the sisters clustered in small, ordered groups outside the front gates of the convent, others paced up and down Via Scala searching in all directions. A few townsfolk in the immediate vicinity appeared at their windows staring curiously at the nuns parading the streets in the early hours of the morning--like women of the night. The Abbess stood at the center of Via Scala lost among the tightly woven buildings the defied age. She listened anxiously for sounds beyond the high-pitched whistle of mosquitoes, to hear the faint rabble of voices headed her way. Meanwhile, Christiano, dressed in grey track bottoms, white t-shirt and trainers, sprinted to the abbey. With his jaw clenched and his intense gaze fixed ahead, he bulldozed through the town. As he reached the piazza, Phi

[ CHAPTER  10 ] - Daylight streamed through the stained-glass windows, highlighting motes of dust that descended upon the congregation like bounty from heaven. Christiano faced his parishioners with open arms. May almighty God bless you. He made the sign of the cross and continued, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. An almighty Amen intoned through the chapel, creating a weightless serenity. He joined his hands together. The Mass is ended, go now in peace to love and serve the Lord. Thanks be to God! responded the nuns in melodic harmony. Many remained genuflected in prayer, while others sat in quiet contemplation. Their movement was slow, as if reluctant to leave and attend to their daily chores, choosing instead to bask in the trail of sacrosanct bless invoked by the ceremonial prayers. Father Cavallo had insisted that Christiano should conduct morning mass, as he was leaving and it was to be a quiet withdrawal. Throughout the service, a disconcerted Chrristiano found his

{ PART.  1 } - [ CHAPTER  NINE:                                                      A smoky haze coiled its way towards the ceiling of the fourteenth-century cellar where an opulent fresco, spanning its entire length, featured Aquilon, god of the north wind. A ferocious gale blasted mouth, which, with the aid of the drifting smog resembled a billowing wind bearing down on the restaurant beneath it. A waiter delivering a plate of steaming linguini made his way beneath archways and beams, each step intensifying the trepidation he felt. It was a hazardous job: one wrong move; a spillage of wine; a hot beverage in a lap; or simply catching a word or phrase that could end his life. He kept the secrets contained, like the old Tuscan building in which he worked--secrets that he left behind each day when his shift was over, safely enclosed within the solid stone walls. He reached a table surrounded by men. Ricardo made no acknowledgement as the waiter placed the plate carefully, silently, on