THE PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA

[ CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE ]  -  { PT.  1 }                                                     Spasms of pain struck like lighting bolts through Christiano's brain, rousing him to consciousness. With each attack, he could see kaleidoscopic veins of light in his minds eyes. His eyes cracked open to a haze of colours and unfocused shapes. He's awake, said t tearful Rosa. Christiano! Just give him a moment, said Emilio. His vision gradually focused. His mother and father stood over him. Their faces were worn with concern. What happened? he croaked. I'm sorry, son, said Rosa, sobbing. In an instant, his memory transported him back to the moment he left the barber's shop. Angelica! He swiftly sat up. Every inch of his body screamed in protest. His father tried to calm him. Rosa burst into tears. I turned away for a moment to sample some olives, and she was gone. Christiano noticed the sling around her arm. What did they do to you? I'll be fine, son. A man was dragging her

{ CHAPTER TWENTY TWO }                                                                                           It was early evening when Angelic found herself grudgingly back in the town she had fled more than a year previously, hoping never to return. To her, it was a nefarious place that held her darkest secrets; the demons in her life that she wanted to bury forever. As the car reached closer to its destination, her troubled past bubbled in her mind like a pot to raging water. Minutes later, Ricardo drove into the small, gated, staff-only car park of Don Primo's eatery and parked by rows of bushes that provided excellent seclusion from the restaurant's many clandestine activities. He opened the back door for Angelica who remained seated and motionless, concealing her anguish behind a mask of defiance. The blood on Ricardo's face was now dry, and in some places, his skin felt numb. In others, it stung like hell. He wrenched her out of the vehicle. Take it easy, said Enz

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE { PT.  1 } - Despite the urge to ram his foot down on the gas pedal, Ricardo drove along the motorway at normal speed under strict instruction to keep his activities within legal limits--as much as possible. The sun's radiating shards targeted his head with the precision of a laser beam. He pulled the visor down, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and fiddled with the air-conditioning controls, further decreasing the am bient temperature. Enzo looked irritated by his tinkering but said nothing. Instead, he lit a cigarette and turned his attention to the landscapes whizzing by his window. You think this priest is the father? Ricardo asked. Enzo drew the cigarette smoke deep into his lungs and let out a succession of smoke rings, Probably. If she was my woman, I'd tie them up and make them watch each other being tortured. Enzo rolled his eyes. All you need to know is that right now Don Primo perfers him dead. That means only if we get the chance. Don Primo will

CHAPTER  TWENTY  -  PRIEST OF SANTA MARIA { PT.  1 } - A pensive Don Primo sat in solitude beneath an alcove in his restaurant. He fiddled with a lighter in the shape of three bullets welded together. He was almost obscured by the cloud of cigarette smoke engulfing him. On the wall behind him was an enlarged monochrome photograph of a young man with a Clark Gable moustache wearing a forties pinstripe suit, trench coat and fedora hat. Standing to knee height was a young boy with Don Primo's characteristic icy stare. They both stood at the entrance of the restaurant--as it looked some fifty years ago with the stone tiling worn to form a colossal stone facade. From a table opposite, Enzo watched him from beneath lowered eyebrows. Don Primo swiped his fingers through the snow-white hair that stylishly ran to the top of his shoulders, and continued staring down at the table deep in thought. Everyone was wary of his mood.                                                        ___________

{ PT.  1 } - An exhausted Christiano sipped a strong cup of espressp at the dining table of his parent's home. The porcelain clock on the cabinet behind him chimed eleven times. An anguished Rosa sat at the head of the table, to his left. Christiano, you look as if you hold the weight of the world on your shoulders. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and took another sip of coffee. Son, forgive me for what I am about to ask, but are you responsible for this woman's condition? nothing gets past you, Mama... No, I'm not responsible. I have protecting her, actually. By whom? Is she in danger? Perhaps the less you know, the better. She placed her hand over his. If you are in trouble I need to know. How can we help you? I will take her to Nonno's mountain cabin. We will leave tomorrow, or maybe tonight. Son, you're scaring me. Who is this woman? Whose child does she carry? Christiano shook his head with a look that showed the full impact of his burden. Christiano, please.