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I used to remember sitting beside my mother as she prayed, hearing her mumbled begs for someone to overlook my father and keep me and my brothers safe. She used to strive for strength, for grace, for the ability to make my man a better version of him and to keep herself from the corruption. If anything, I’ve taken her words and found myself needing them.

Feeling happy with myself, I begin to move. I prepare to strive for the goodness my mother instilled in our house. If Enzo and Carlo can do it, I can start. I want an end to the madness and if this is something that I have to try, then I will.

Approaching the booth, I take a calming breath before opening the door and entering. I sit on my side, wondering if this is just to get me on edge. I have all these dastard images of an impostor sitting on the other side, recording everything, and waiting for me to say one thing that will hang the entire Abbiati clan. When I push that idea away, it’s now that I really reflect on what it is that I regret the most – is it the murder? No. The deceit, the lies, and the troublesome lifestyle we lead? No. What I regret most in this world swirls to life from a pool of grief in me.

I notice a bible setting before me on the ledge. Reaching up, I take the black, leather bound book and open it. I find myself with a list of what to expect from confessional, and the book has been stickered throughout. As I flick through pages, I realize there are notes on sin, salvation, and ultimate redemption.

When Enzo said he wanted to change his life, I didn’t realize Father Andrew would be rooting for the evil underdogs in this world so much. It fills me with enlightenment to know that there is a comeback from the darkest depth this world has to offer.

But as I hold the book, my hands begin to sweat and my palms become clammy. Putting the bible back down, I begin to rub both hands against the skirt of my dress. It’s hot outside, but the church is surprisingly cool. My sudden hot sweat is brought on by the rapid nerves consuming me. They’re invading my system and with it, my throat begins to feel tight.

I begin to reach up, prepared to pull the screen away, but decide I would really rather not see Father Andrew try to keep his emotions in check. I don’t want to be stopped from executing my confession because I fear what I might see glance across his face.

As I see the light embrace the opposite side, I know Father Andrew is about to enter. I see his form move into the box and hear him settling. Taking difficult inhales, I close my eyes, remembering all the times I have sat outside confessional when my mother and father would repent their penance and hope nothing has changed. I reach again for the bible, using it as an aid, but ultimately I draw from things I remember.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. I have never been granted the opportunity to confess my sins." I close my eyes, clasp my hands together, and strive for the strength I just prayed for. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” I start my confession and these words in themselves are on the lips of a notorious sinner. “I’m struggling to decide where to start with this. I have been asked to do the absolute worst in this life and I fear I am past saving.”

“No one is ever past saving if they are a child of God,” Father Andrew speaks, his tone kept calm and soothing. “Start wherever you need to.”

“I feel like I’ve become a monster,” I remark, drawing on my confessions to Enzo. “My father took advantage of my grief after my mother died, and since then, I’ve become someone I don’t want to be. I allowed him to use every moment of heartbreak to create me into something he would idolize, but ultimately, I do not.” I can feel my fingers tightening around the bible as I continue to tense up. “He forces me to do the deeds he doesn’t, in order for him to reap the rewards and the shame it puts on me is too much. I feel like I’m suffocating and I don’t want to anymore. I want to live a life without having to execute others at another’s will. I want to live my life how I want to.”

The silence that follows between us is earth shattering. I know he passes no verbal judgment, and I need to continue.

“But I know God cannot forgive murderers who take the lives of innocent people.” I feel a ravaging roar of culpability assault me. I remember when Zane had told me that some of the men I killed had no connection to my father whatsoever, how he only wanted me to do the dirty work. “I have been a victim of exploitation and abuse for years without knowing it, and now I am fully aware of what my actions have done, of how I have destroyed people’s lives. I’m worried I’ll never be able to live with myself.” Now, the tears fall. I don’t cave to the ever-growing sob building in me, but the tears silently fall. “And I hate myself most for becoming something my mother fought so hard for us not to become. She was the one who made sure we were somewhat sheltered and protected and given the best of the life our father created. After her death, we all forgot that moral goodness she made sure we thrived on. I feel like she would hate what we’ve become. She would be rolling over in her grave if she were knew what has become of us.” I leave the bible sitting on my lap as I reach up to wipe away my tears. “I don’t want to feel like that anymore. I want to turn my life around and make it something beautiful. I want a chance to live my life how I want to, not how others want me to. I’m not prepared to kill anyone else anymore or deceive them in any way. I want to lead a good life. I want to be free, and I can’t be that if I continue to live this life. I can’t be what I’m not meant to be.” I sniffle, worried my confession won’t grant me access to the good life. “I just want to start to turn my life around. I want to save my family how they have me. I want my brothers to live a good life with me where we aren’t worried about what we’re doing, and we don’t drive fear into others. I want the life our mother set out for us. I want to be a better person because I have a man who strives to see the good in me. I know I said murderers don’t deserve to be saved, but if a man can love me wholeheartedly after knowing what I have done in the past, then I have to believe I am due love and freedom elsewhere.” When I finish, my heart is racing fiercely, and my ribcage begins to ache. I take a moment to steady myself before I say the last part of my confession. "I am sorry for these and all the sins of my past life."

There’s a brief silence, the only noise coming from the few churchgoers present right now. Andrew doesn’t say anything, so I finally take a deep breath and admit the final flaw within me.

“Recently, I’ve been struggling with myself. I fell in love. Head over heels in love and I feel that is the biggest cross I could ever bear. I’ve tried to shake it, tried to kill what I feel, but with every action, he loves me more. He stands by me, saves me, supports me, loves me, and I feel like I’m going to be the one thing that kills him. I pray every day that his love for me isn’t the thing that kills him. I cannot survive losing him and my selfishness makes me more immoral for feeling like that. I love him and that’s the bottom line. Everything that comes from that one sentiment is everything I have dreamed, of everything I wanted. He’s my savior, my hero, my...” I pause to hiccup on a sob. “He’s my knight in blood caked armor.” I bow my head, allowing my tears to fall in ribbon melodies across my cheeks. “But I feel I don’t truly deserve the love he has to give and I cannot enjoy it until I start to forgive myself. My brother was right to bring me here. I want to love Zane with my entire heart. I don’t want to conflict any of my emotions anymore. I want to love him and live with him and finally have the life I’ve been denied.” I take a shaky breath. “This is where it all begins.”

A tense moment resumes between us. I’ve nothing left to say, so I leave it to Andrew to condemn me how he sees fit.

“I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father and of Son and of the Holy Spirit,” Father Andrew’s voice replies and the silence resumes for a moment. "Give thanks to the Lord for He is good."

"For His mercy endures forever."

As he leaves, I remain seated, trying to garner some courage to confront the man. Examining my own conscience, it’s a shocking revelation to see that most of my woes stem from the death of my mother. I have disappointed her legacy in the wake of my father’s dominance. She died and he killed not only her but also every single ounce of goodness she filled our home and family with.

Or so I make myself believe.

We may all be corrupt from original sin, but I know my father didn’t help aid our abilities to resist. If anything, he played with the weakness we all have within us and, like his father before him, wanted a horde of morally corrupt, dutiful members for the Dio Lavoro. We’re not a true family, we are not a clan. We are, for the most part, strangers struggling to survive. I have come to realize that my real family is small and special and full of people with a conscience that shines so bright we all have a divine hope to make it through this.

I finally set the bible down, stand, and leave my spot in the booth. What I find is Father Andrew waiting with a smile on his face. The notion in itself causes me to feel uncomfortable, and if anything else, anxious.

“You did really well,” he comforts me, stepping forward. “I wasn’t going to overwhelm you with all the prayers. You looked like you needed a sounding board for the things that are tying you down and you were able to do that.” His smile broadens, his eyes sparkle with honesty, and I see the opposite of the shame I truly thought he would denounce me with. “Don’t worry, Amelia, you aren’t alone in believing that you deserve no redemption, but believe me, the conviction you carry is enough to see you through this. This is your home here; feel free to come here and speak to me, or God, whenever you need to. As for your mother, I’m sure she would be blessed to know you have the strength to redeem yourself.”

“Just a little too late,” I mumble, hugging myself out of insecurity.

“Never too late,” he replies, offering a smile. “Let’s go find your brothers, shall we?”

We walk through the church, passed the few people praying, and head out to a side door. Andrew opens the door and we leave to enter the backyard of the church. Immediately, I’m overwhelmed by the loud roar of children’s laughter that fills the Manhattan air. As Father Andrew moves out of the way, I’m met with what must be a church run daycare and in the thick of it all are my brothers. They run around, enjoying some time with the children, making their playtime all the more exciting.

“They come here three times a week to help out,” he says, his gaze captivated on the group of happily playing children.

“They do?” I ask, my heart swelling. “I never knew.”

“I wish you did. They’re two real characters the children look up to. On the days they don’t come to help, the children are forever bugging the sisters that run this day care about where Enzo and Carlo are.” He chortles as Carlo falls down, a bundle of children jumping on him before he bursts up, holding onto a few of them as he roars out loud. “It’s like this every single time.”

It’s as I watch Carlo laugh carelessly and Enzo bent over double with laughter as children tickle him that my heart throbs. They would be perfect family men. They’re loyal, honorable, and have so much love to give. They would give a woman the moon from the night sky and still strive to give them the stars above it.

We stand and watch from the sidelines until Carlo notices me. He gives me such an illuminating smile that I find the infectious need to respond with a smile myself. He calls to Enzo who sees me and both of them tell the children to go play elsewhere and they’ll be back.

“She’s a lot like the both of you when you both turned up on my doorstep,” Father Andrew quips, sarcastically reprimanding my brothers on their approach. “You Abbiati folk are all the same. Even Bruno, and he’s the one well-kept from the family business.”

“Bruno?” we all ask, united with puzzlement.

Father Andrew laughs. “Bruno is here every Sunday for morning mass with his wife and children. Occasionally, he’ll come in for the evening confession, but your family is far stronger than you all give yourself credit for.”

“Well, apparently, this is a family you cannot make any guesses about,” I joke, looking at my brothers. “And you didn’t think to tell me about this?” I ask, pointing back to the playground full of merry children. “This is amazing! Why would hide this from us?”

“Papà,” they both respond together.

“Look, I would’ve, Amelia, but we’ve had so much going on, and this isn’t something I wanted to jeopardize by Papà finding out. After last night, Carlo and I decided it was time you got some insight that even with what goes on at home, we can give back to the community.” Enzo oozes satisfaction in being able to proudly tell me. “This is just half of what we do with the church, but it’s some of the most fun we can ever have.”

“Lia, you’d love this, believe me,” Carlo chimes in, adding on, “It’s liberating.”

“This is where you disappear to in the mornings?” I ask, and he nods. “And you spend all day here?”

“Most of it,” he tells me, that humble smile sitting firmly on his face. “It’s just a little downtime.”

“I know it’s a lot to digest, Lia, but we thought if we got you opening up a little and seeking some form of happiness, it’d be a start. And if you want to join us here, well, Andrew’s already said you can on a probationary period. They don’t judge here. We are all equals and these kids are the best stress relief you can find.”

“Carlo!” one of the children shouts out. “Carlo, Carlo!” he says again, this time in a chant with the other children.

“You go back. I’ve got one more stop to make with Lia before we head back home,” Enzo tells Carlo, looking at the children now vying for his attention. “I’m thinking we order in and actually relax tonight. No talk of Papà or Gio. Just a family night.”