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“Lord,” he begins, and his voice is quiet, conversational, the way he speaks to God when it’s just the two of us in his office rather than the formal cadences of the liturgy. “Watch over Kira as she begins this new chapter of her life.”
He pauses, and I feel the weight of his next words before he speaks them.
“Grant her wisdom when she is uncertain, courage when she is afraid, and the clarity to know the difference between fear and danger. Guide her and Domenico as they learn to be husband and wife, and help them find patience and understanding in one another.”
When Father Joseph stops, I add, “And watch over Mom. Give her strength, comfort, and healing.”
“Amen.”
“Amen,” I whisper.
When I lift my head, I feel calmer—not resolved, not safe, but calmer. The prayer hasn’t changed anything external. But I’ve been reminded that I exist beyond these circumstances, that there is a Kira who is not defined by what she endures.
“Thank you,” I say.
Father Joseph smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes. “Come back,” he says. “Tomorrow, next week, whenever you need. We’ll find work for you to do, and we’ll talk when you need to talk, and we’ll pray when you need to pray. This place hasn’t stopped being yours just because your last name changed.”
I stand, smoothing my hands over the black shirt Domenico approved, the gray trousers that replaced my ruined jeans. I feel more solid than I did when I arrived, more capable of facing whatever waits outside this office.
“Thank you, Father Joseph.” I smile. “I’ll definitely be back tomorrow. And if it’s okay, I’d like to sign up for the choir again.”
“Of course,” he replies smoothly. “We’ll continue as if you never left.” He smiles and waves as I walk out of his office.
Vinny is exactly where he said he’d be, positioned against the wall with his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes meet mine as I emerge, checking for signs of distress, of danger, of whatever he’s trained to look for.
Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he simply nods and falls into step beside me as we leave. Once we’re back in the car, Vinny catches my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Where to now, Mrs. DeLuca?”
“Kira,” I correct him on a sigh. “And, um, can we go to the hospital? I really want to see my mom and make sure she’s okay.”
“If the boss says it’s okay.”
Right, right. I forgot I have to text Domenico.
Me
I’d like to go see my mom.
Domenico
Is that your way of asking permission?
I frown at the screen because no, I wasn’t actually asking. Maybe I should have.
Me
You told me I had to text you if I went anywhere else. You never mentioned asking permission.
Domenico
Good girl.
What the hell does that mean? Is that a yes or a no? I decide to take it as him being okay with it, so I tell Vinny we’re good to go and give him the address.
My first week with all this freedom and a chauffeur doubling as my bodyguard, I only go to Saint Benedict’s and to see Mom. The second week, I add a few detours to mine and Vinny’s outings. I take him to a museum I love, and we even stop in the local park to watch some kind of art performance.
At first, having him constantly shadowing me felt strange, but with every trip, I got a little more used to him. Somewhere along the third week, I stop thinking of him as the man Domenico assigned to watch me and start talking more with him.
Apparently, I also trust him enough now to finally ask the question that’s been sitting in the back of my mind for almost three weeks.
