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I have to swallow the lump in my throat. I see why so many people like confessing to this guy. But I’m not here for fucking sentiment. At least, I need it to appear that way.

“But you keep the recording on for our soldiers,” I say, as if this is any other business visit, and I’m here to confirm the status quo.

“Of course,” he says.

“Anything interesting?”

“Nothing worth reporting.” He pauses to consider. “Your man Peter’s thinking about killing his ex-wife’s new boyfriend.”

I frown, considering the idea. Maybe a good killing is what Peter needs to get his head back in the game.

Jesus, I want to rub my temples. So many people to keep track of, people I’m responsible for that I have to support and keep in line. It’d be easiest if I knew I could trust everyone involved. But fuck me, this is hard.

I take a deep breath. No use feeling overwhelmed by it all. I set my jaw and get to it.

“What do we know about the new boyfriend?” I ask Father Ryan.

“No affiliation, as far as I can tell. Lives out in the burbs. Insurance adjuster, specializes in denying the elderly their homeowner’s claims.”

So Ryan’s done his research. It’s a pleasant surprise, as is his unfazed attitude about murder.

“Peter knows how to cover his tracks,” I say.

That, and I don’t really care if he kills an unaffiliated insurance adjuster.

“Good digging,” I tell Ryan. “You’ll let me know when there is something worth reporting?”

“Of course, sir,” he says. The man’s an asset, and he deserves to be rewarded as such.

“How soon can you take over for Father Naughton?” I ask. Ryan’s taken aback, but only for a second.

“Let him have Easter Mass,” he says. Generous.

“Done.”

We shake hands.

Back when he still attended Mass, Da and Father Naughton shared a mutual respect. As far as I knew, that’s all it was. They didn’t have a business relationship. It was a missed opportunity, because we needed to have the church in our pocket.

And now, we do.

My new way of leading has already improved our family’s strength.

I take the long way out of the building. Through the basement, and into the deserted youth group room. I close the door behind me.

Shamelessly, I run over to her cubby and pull out her spare scarf. I bury my nose in it and inhale. Brioni’s scent washes through me, bringing tears to my eyes.

Vanilla and sugar. My weakness.

Chapter 52

Brioni

I sit by my front window as often as I can. My house has always been too large for one person, but these days it feels especially empty, like I’m a marble rolling around inside a shoebox. I’ve rarely used the living room before now, preferring the warmth of the kitchen to the draft of these front windows.

I resituate my knitted blanket around my shoulders. Settling deeper into the couch, I gaze out at the postcard-perfect scene. After last night’s snowfall, the walks have been shoveled and the road has been plowed, but the snowbanks haven’t been dirtied to slushy gray yet.

Everything is as white as a blank slate.