Page 141 of Contempt

Those words were out—there was no taking them back, now. He seriously hoped just getting them out would do the damn thing for him and make these thoughts go away for good. But it probably wouldn’t. That was just his life and luck.

Lucian dragged in a quiet breath, and Renzo thought, maybe calming, too. “You know, you may not believe me when I say this, but you and I are much more alike in some ways than you can possibly know, Renzo.”

“Oh, you think?”

He didn’t mean for that to come out as sarcastically as it had, but it was out there now. He couldn’t change it. Lucian didn’t seem to mind as he waved a hand as if to brush off what Renzo said.

“We are similar in this way,” Lucian said. “There was a time in my life when my name was not Lucian Marcello, you see. Instead of coming from wealth and status, I came from a man and a woman who left me with a legacy of their misdeeds. Mind you, I loved my mother and father—my biological parents, I mean. Still do today, but that doesn’t change the fact that despite becoming a Marcello, being given immeasurable wealth and privilege with a simple last name, I still saw him. Luciano Grovatti, son of a murdered, shamed made man and the child of a dead woman who had been his mistress. More often than not, I thought everyone saw me that way, too, because a select few liked to remind me of exactly where I came from like it was something I could never escape.”

Clearing his throat, Lucian stood from his chair and gave Renzo a kind smile before he shrugged one shoulder under his tailored suit. “My advice, not that I learned this from someone else, because I didn’t, Renzo … this was something I learned on my own time, you see. That advice from me is to stop trying to change who he used to be by replacing him with who you see in the mirror now. He and you are one in the same, young man. And you could not be you now if not for who he was then. Own it—love him, too. He’s given you far more than anyone else ever has. You don’t have to be proud of where you came from, if that’s not what you want, but that doesn’t mean you need to be ashamed of what made you, either.”

Renzo blinked, unsure of what to say. Nothing felt appropriate, honestly. Lucian didn’t seem to mind. He gave Renzo a pat on the shoulder as he passed him by, saying, “I thought you might appreciate someone coming in to send you off into married life … considering you don’t have your own mother or father here to do it. I wasn’t sure if you would appreciate me—understandably—being the one to do it, but no one else would have been appropriate to do it, Ren.”

He gave the man a look, but Lucian was already standing in the doorway, ready to leave. “Thank you, Lucian.”

Lucian nodded. “It’s what you deserve.”

Was it?

Renzo wasn’t even sure of that, considering …

As though Lucian could read Renzo’s mind, he tossed over his shoulder as he left, “But today is not the day to think about all of that, Renzo. Today is a beautiful day.”

He stared back into the mirror again.

Lucian wasn’t wrong.

Renzo was getting married today.

What else mattered?

• • •

Renzo had never been much for confession. In fact, he had never done confession. Not once in his entire life, despite the fact that on some Sundays, he could vividly remember his mother dressing him and Rose up and dragging them into a church.

Always a Catholic church, too, because apparently, that’s just what they were. He didn’t remember his First Communion but there was something about the smell of an old church that was comforting to him. Something about the hard, curved backs of the pews that felt like he was welcomed to sit there … despite everything he was and had done.

Someone might say it was meant to be.

He didn’t know if he would.

Still, as he rolled the rosary beads between his fingers, repeating his prayers for the penance from the priest who would be marrying him and Lucia in only a half of a hour … Renzo felt relief. As strange as it was, he embraced it. Church every Sunday had never been high on his list of priority, but it was for Lucia. And every Sunday, regardless if his ass just wanted to stay in bed or not, Lucia dragged him along with her to sit in the pew.

Renzo found he didn’t mind.

Confession before the ceremony was apparently an old tradition in this church, according to the priest and every single Marcello he thought to ask. Each man nodded and grinned like they were remembering their last confession before marrying their wives when he questioned if this was necessary.

Apparently, it was.

Renzo hadn’t realized he was going to need it.

Until he did.

Funny how that worked.

He had just finished repeating the last prayer when a soft knock echoed throughout the private room used for confession. Filled with rich tapestries and chairs older than fucking time, there was always something beautiful to look at, if one wanted to. But he wasn’t looking at anything except the love of his life poking her head in the door with a sly smile.

Lucia.