Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“You’re leaving again?” She couldn’t contain her disappointment.
“I’ve got to catch a flight to Rome.”
“Why?”
“Work.” I sat on the couch and fired off a text to Andre.
“Well, there are worse places to travel for work.” She sat across from me, one knee propped to show some of her thong underneath. She wore no makeup, still having that morning glow from a good night’s sleep. It was something I’d never paid attention to before, but she really did look beautiful first thing in the morning.
“Trust me, I’m not looking forward to it.”
She gave a slight nod but didn’t ask for details.
“There’s always next weekend.”
She perked up slightly. “There is?”
“And the days in between.”
Now, her smile was bright. “I don’t think I could go five days without seeing your handsome face.” She already had me, but she continued to flirt with me, continued to pump up my ego.
I didn’t need a boost, but it was still nice. I got compliments and advances from women regularly, but their intentions were unclear. Did they want my money, my dick, my protection—or did they want me?
It seemed like Aliénor saw me for who I really was. She brought out the best in me when everyone else only brought out the worst. I’d never done the sleepover thing like this, but I wasn’t annoyed by her presence. I went from a solitary existence to sharing my bed, my time, and even a bit of my heart.
I arrived in Rome that evening.
The lights looked like wildfire from the sky, and once I was on the ground, I was surrounded by the cacophony of Rome. It was different from the other Italian cities because it possessed an inherently chaotic charm. The birthplace of Italy, of the Roman Empire, of the brothers Romulus and Remus.
The tension in the air was innate, from the rise and fall of the Republic, from the tyranny of Julius Caesar. It made complete sense that the Roman Emperor had made the founding city his home because I was certain the Roman Army burned in his veins.
I arrived at Vatican City, escorted inside through a private entrance from nearby Castel Sant’Angelo. I’d been to Rome but not the Vatican. Dressed the way I was, I was certain to stick out among the priests and nuns, if any were out this time of night.
I was guided over the water into the Holy City. Lampposts were installed along the deserted cobblestone streets. The Vatican was the smallest country in the world, an independent sovereignty from Rome despite the fact that it was in the center of it. With a population of seven hundred people, it was mostly comprised of priests and nuns and other works that supported the Pope.
I was escorted into one of the grand buildings with marble floors with sculptures and beautiful artwork on the walls. It looked more like a museum than an office or residence. We took the stairs to the second floor, and I was escorted into a different wing—the Apostolic Palace.
Home of Pope Zephyrinus III.
I wasn’t particularly religious, wasn’t raised in a Catholic household, but whether I believed there was something after this life or not, it was still the goddamn Pope, and therefore, an honor to be in his presence.
One wall was lined with bookshelves of ancient tomes that had been part of the library for nearly two thousand years. In the center was an enormous sculpture of the Virgin Mary. A place that had been maintained and also preserved, a place where all the other holy priests of the Vatican had sat.
A large ornate desk was on a green rug with books and parchment across the surface. There was no computer or electronic device in sight. I felt as if I’d stepped back in time to the 1920s.
The balcony behind the desk gave a view of the entrance to the Vatican, a wide-open space of cobblestones that tourists flocked to every day to pay their respects to the holy capital.
Then I was guided to a separate sitting area, a long couch and several armchairs on a rug, a lit fireplace in the wall.
I recognized Constantine in the armchair, speaking quietly to someone on the couch. He turned to look at me, and that was when the rage came to the surface. He immediately rose to his feet.
On the couch was an elderly man dressed in the robes of his position. While he was frail in the last decade of his life, his presence held so much power it made me believe someone divine was looking over him. He slowly rose to his feet, arms together at his waist, and he regarded me with sheathed warmth.
Constantine continued to glare at me.
I regarded the Pope. “Your Holiness.” I gave a slight nod with my head. “An honor to be in your presence and the presence of God.” I didn’t extend my hand to shake his, knowing that was presumptuous.