Ruthless Mafia 38

Zorah took a deep breath. “If my singing was not up to Father Giannone’s standards in church, then I would be brought
to him, and he would guide my mother on my punishment.”
“Define up to standards. Hit a wrong note?”
“Yes, or if he felt I was not putting all of my devotion into my singing. He feels strongly my voice is a gift bestowed upon
me from God and as such I should be giving my all each time I am invited to sing.”
“Vodingo said Sidonia told him about a Christmas Eve mass. I want to know what happened.”
“Did they even consummate their wedding last night?” she scoffed angrily. “Seriously. How did they spend so much time
speaking about me when earlier she couldn’t stop talking about how big his thingy is?”
“It’s a cock, not a thingy and they were talking about you this morning when Vodingo noted a scar on Sidonia’s hip. She
said her mother did it when a whip slipped. Vodingo was outraged until she said it was nothing compared to what you’ve
endured. He pressed her for more. He gave me a five-minute brief outside the plane. I want the rest. What happened at
Christmas?”
“It was before I moved out. Six months before. It was Christmas. There was an influenza which hit the college. I was in my
second year of program and was working hard and I caught the bug like two hundred other students. Father Giannone’s
opinion was God did not take sick days in saving my soul and so I would sing Ave Maria. I did my best. I really did.” Tears welled her eyes with the memory, “Even with the microphones I was barely audible. I did not do the Lord justice and
Father was upset with me.”
“What did he do?” Icaro moved closer to her now, sitting on the edge of the bed and took her hand. “Amoré, please
know I am not angry with you. I’m worried and I’m concerned. I cannot help you through the trauma of what these fools
did to you without understanding what happened. I am angry, I am incredibly angry but none of it is directed to you.
Please. Tell me what happened Christmas Eve.”
“Father Ippocrate insisted I spend the night in the manger the way Baby Jesus did.” She took a breath, “it was cold this
year. I was already sick with this flu bug which was going around. I already had the chills and fever. I think it was roughly
thirty degrees Fahrenheit.”
“Jesus Christ,” he bit out furiously.
“I was only allowed to wear swaddling.” She whispered into her fingertips.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“He made the nuns put me in the equivalent to a cloth diaper and allowed my breasts to be covered but I was left out in
freezing temperatures from nine pm until six am. Sidonia took me to hospital, and I was admitted for three days.”
“No.”
“Yes.” She looked away, “he supervised to ensure they put my clothing on the way he felt appropriate. He always
supervised Mom’s punishments of me. When I was put over her lap as a child, he would be the one to count my beatings
with the paddle or strap.”
“He’s seen you naked.” The comment was strangled from his throat.
“He’s my uncle.”
“My uncles are out there, Zorah. I can promise you, none of them have willingly seen me naked, not since I was a small
boy streaking through the house. Maybe as a teenager when we got caught skinny dipping, but I am telling you, none of
those men would have ever seen any of my female cousins naked.”
“He was doing God’s work.”
“He was abusing you and fetishizing your abuse. My darling, he probably whacked off after seeing your naked form.”
“No. He always told me how he always felt strongly his own chastity was of value to the Lord and I know he took great
pleasure in the fact he abstains.”
“He might not have personally touched you,” his voice trailed off as she looked out the small window towards the clouds
and then swallowed nervously. The growl from his chest was coarse and thick with rage, “Did he touch you himself?”
“If there was nobody around and I messed up, he doled out my discipline himself.”
“Sidonia doesn’t know this.”
“She knows some. Not all.”
“Why not?”
“I was ashamed.”
“Where was your mother? The nuns?”
“They went quarterly on spiritual retreats. I was left behind to cook for Father Giannone. I was his niece, so it was
permitted. When I was a teenager, I burned his dinner because he was at the table spouting verse after verse of how
women were wicked and demons. He made me sing for him, but I was struggling to listen to what he was preaching and
to sing and to cook his dinner and I burned his potatoes.”
“He hit you.”
“He put me over his knee the way Mom did.”
Realization stunned him. “He struck your bare bottom when you were a teenager?”
“Yes. It happened a handful of times after but not since I moved out of my mother’s apartment.”
“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to expose him, humiliate him and then I’m going to kill him.”
“No!” she lunged at him, her hands gripping his tightly as she begged. “Please no. If you tell, then it brings shame on my
family and the church and me. I don’t want anyone to know I was so bad and wicked.”
“You are not wicked. You have nothing to feel shame over. This is assault. I was meant to protect you, and they refused to
let you come to me, but it was because he wanted you for himself.”
“You can’t tell anyone,” she was weeping openly now. “Please. I do not want anyone to know. Please. It makes me feel so
dirty and sinful. I tried not to do anything which would warrant him to give me punishments when my mother was not
around. I was terrified of him because he was far stronger than my mother and it hurt so much more but I mostly knew it was wrong and I never wanted anyone to know. He said it was my fault. It was all my fault, and I don’t want anyone to
know.”
She was sobbing hysterically at the notion Icaro was going to expose her darkest secret, one she never even revealed to
Sidonia. She certainly didn’t want the entire parish to find out.
“Please Icaro, please.” She clutched his shirt sleeve distraught. “Say something. Say you won’t tell.”