Page 18 of Sinner
“Now we sleep,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.
Outside, the storm begins to weaken, rain gentling from a torrent to a steady patter against the glass. The candle burns lower, wax pooling on the dresser, casting ever-shifting shadows on the wall.
I close my eyes and let myself drift, the woman I love safe in my arms, her breathing deep and even against my chest. For the first time in months, perhaps years, peace settles over me like a benediction.
But even as sleep claims me, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers of the reckoning that awaits.
Chapter 10
Caterina
I waketo sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains, momentarily disoriented until the memories flood back. Nico’s arms are around me. His lips on mine. The storm raging outside, while we created our own tempest within these walls.
“Caterina!” My mother’s voice pierces through my daydream, sharp as a blade. “Are you even listening to me?”
I blink, the Plaza Hotel’s opulent reception hall materializing around me. Crystal chandeliers hang like frozen waterfalls above our heads. I’ve been dragged here straight from brunch, no time even to change out of my uncomfortable silk blouse and pencil skirt.
“Sorry, Mama,” I murmur, forcing myself to focus on the clipboard in front of me. The wedding planner—Vivian, Victoria?—hovers nearby, her smile strained after an hour of my mother and future mother-in-law’s competing demands.
“As I was saying,” my mother continues, her manicured nails tapping impatiently against the marble-topped table, “the floral centerpieces need to be at least this tall.” She stretches her hand dramatically above the table. “The Romanos had their niece’s wedding here last spring, and I won’t have them thinking we can’t match their extravagance.”
Mrs. Romano—Carmen—purses her lips. Her hair is styled in the same immaculate blonde bob she’s worn since I’ve known her, not a strand out of place. “The flowers are fine, Maria. What matters is the menu. Anthony insists on having the wagyu beef option.”
“Of course he does,” my mother says with a tight smile. “My Caterina deserves only the best.”
I tune them out again, my mind drifting back to the rectory. To Nico’s sparse bedroom with its simple crucifix on the wall that watched over us as we sinned so beautifully beneath it. I press my thighs together under the table, feeling the delicious soreness between them—evidence that it wasn’t just a dream.
“—Italy instead of Bali,” Carmen is saying when I tune back in. “Anthony’s finalizing the arrangements now.”
“Italy?” I ask, the word catching my attention.
My mother sighs dramatically. “Honestly, Caterina, where is your head today? Carmen was just explaining that Anthony has changed your honeymoon plans. You’ll be going to Italy—Puglia specifically—instead of Bali.”
“He has some associates to meet there,” Carmen adds, stirring her espresso. “But don’t worry, you’ll still have plenty of time for romance.”
A chill runs through me despite the warm room. Anthony’s “associates” can only mean one thing—Cosa Nostra business. The honeymoon I’d barely been looking forward to has now transformed into something even worse—a business trip where I’ll be expected to smile and look pretty. At the same time, my new husband will busy himself with whatever illegal operations keep our families in luxury.
“I thought we decided on Bali weeks ago,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
“Plans change,cara,” my mother says dismissively. “Italy is beautiful in Autumn. And it’s your heritage—you should be excited.”
I nod mechanically, knowing there’s no point in arguing. This is how it’s always been—decisions made for me, my preferences an afterthought if considered at all.
The wedding planner—Valerie, that’s her name—clears her throat. “Should we discuss the seating arrangements for the rehearsal dinner? I understand there are some... sensitive considerations.”
My mother and Carmen exchange knowing looks. The “sensitive considerations” are the careful separation of certain family members whose business rivalries might erupt into something uglier over wine and pasta.
“Yes, let’s,” my mother says, pulling out a folder filled with names I barely recognize—distant cousins, business associates, political connections that need to be maintained.
I let my mind drift again, remembering how Nico looked in the candlelight, his strong body moving above mine. The way he whispered my name. The feel of his hands—hands that hold communion wafers and holy water—exploring my body with reverent hunger.
“Caterina!” My mother snaps her fingers in front of my face. “What has gotten into you today? You’re a million miles away.”
If only she knew. I’m not a million miles away—I’m just across the Brooklyn Bridge, in a small rectory bedroom with a man who has sworn himself to God but gave himself to me instead.
“I didn’t sleep well,” I lie, though it’s partly true. We didn’t do much sleeping in those precious hours before dawn, when he woke me with kisses trailing down my stomach, his eyes asking permission before his mouth claimed me in ways that made me bite the pillow to stay quiet.
“Well, try to focus,” my mother chides. “This is your wedding we’re planning.”
