Ruthless Mafia 39

“When is the last time he struck you?”
“This week,” she whispered her eyes darting over his face, “but it wasn’t over his lap. There is a kneeler in his office. Mom
was there and he struck me over my back with a wide paddle which is wrapped in a thick cloth. It doesn’t leave marks on
the skin the way the flogger does. He didn’t want to leave my flesh marred before our wedding. It was why,” she bit her
lip.
“It was why what?”
“It was why Mom did my feet this week. After he punished me, I tried to run and Mom tased me and pinned my feet.”
“Jesus Christ. Who else had permission to hit you? All the nuns were in on this?”
“No. No!” she shook her head vehemently. “In fact, there were only two or three really who hated me from the moment I moved in with them. The others were compassionate and kind. There have been many sisters who were put in our parish
who left after only a couple of months because they would complain to the Bishop of what was happening, and it was
decided to remove them so they couldn’t cause trouble.”
“Why? Why not call child services and remove you?”
“The people who attend our church are all tightly connected. They know each other’s deepest secrets and they all know if
one goes down, they all go down. For example,” she felt she was tattling but she was desperate to change the topic of
conversation, “Sister Clare, she has a horrible drinking problem. She was the one who asked what was happening on
Saturday in the church and I told her to sit down and be patient. She hates me because when Mom and I moved in, it
meant outsiders would see what the other nuns were trying to help her through. Though, their version of help was
praying for her and putting bandages on her cuts when she fell down drunk. If attention was drawn to her during mass,
Father Giannone would be tasked with her discipline.”
“Does he put her over his knee naked too?”
“No,” she shook her head. “It is punishment reserved for me and me alone. She would have to do things like handwash
everyone’s clothing, cook for the entire house for a week or do extra fasting and praying until she was right with God
again.”
“What else? What else are they hiding?”
“Sister Teresa likes to gamble.”
“What?”
“Gamble,” she cleared her throat. “She gets quite ugly when she loses at bingo.”
“I see. Anything else?”
“I don’t know. I don’t spend my time looking into other people’s sins. It is for them to work through with their preacher
and their God. I focus solely on being as good as I can.”
“Tell me, Zorah, are you good to be good for God or to avoid being tortured.”
She shrugged, “both, I guess. It feels good to do good things, Icaro. When I work at the soup kitchen and help feed
hungry people, it doesn’t feel like penance to me. It feels good. If I spend time working with the children in the nursery
of the church, it’s nice to see their fresh minds all excited to do the crafts and coloring and to learn. Until I was sixteen or
seventeen, stepping into the church itself always felt like it was the only place nobody would come at me. I mean they would make me kneel there and pray for hours but I found peace in the quiet there. I can’t say I ever heard the voice of
God or anything, but I felt peaceful there.”
“Why did it change?”
“Father Giannone’s congregation were very generous and the tithes his church brings in for the parish and the diocese.
He was granted an actual office in the rectory of the church. Prior to this, he only kept a small changing room in the
church and his office was in the hall between his house and the church. When he was given his formal office, he started
spending all of his days there and many nights. I was under constant surveillance then. There was no freedom. I would go
to school in the morning, straight to church after school for choir and then to clean the church.”
“Did he ever,” Icaro gave a tilt to his head and cleared his throat, “aside from beating you, did he ever touch you
inappropriately.”
“Not ever.” She denied it vehemently and it was the truth. “Other than my buttocks which he never touched with his own
hand, he never touched my body. Even to lay over his knee, he put a cloth between us and a pillow on his lap, so I didn’t
touch him. I was unclean. He was not.”
“He was filthy fucking dirty, and he put the pillow there, so you didn’t feel his hard cock,” Icaro was furious.
“I never have to go back,” she said quietly and looked to him with luminous eyes. “He can never discipline me again.
Neither can my mother or the nuns or the choir director or Sidonia’s parents in my mother’s stead.”
“Her parents also hit you?”
“A strap to the hands.”
“They beat her as well?”
“Her mother used her father’s belt on her a lot. It was leather. She didn’t get struck very often. Sidonia is very good. She
didn’t disobey often.”
“When you moved out, you could have run anywhere. Why stay in the parish?”
“Everything is controlled by my family. I don’t even have a bank account of my own. My uncle managed my finances
from my job. He would give me a weekly allowance for transportation and food. He paid my half of the rent. I was given a monthly budget for toiletries and clothing for work.”
“What was your annual salary?”
“Thirty-five thousand dollars a year.”
“And you were given how much in cash in your hand each month? For living expenses, aside from your rent. How much were you given in hand?”
“Three hundred dollars.”
“For food, clothing and transportation, he gave you three hundred dollars a month.”
“Where did the other twenty-six hundred dollars a month go?”
“I do not know.”
“Zorah, he was stealing from you. He abused you physically, mentally, and financially.” He rose off the bed and paced
frantically, “this is why you are so defiant one moment, ready to break free of your restraints and the next minute curling
into yourself wishing you could simply die.”
“They were my family.”
“That,” he waved behind him, “is not how a family behaves.”
“And yours is?” she shot back furiously.