Chapter 87

SALVATORE.

The last time he stood before this sight, his heart didn't want to fall out of his chest; instead, the next day, he found himself in front of Father Martin, confessing how he had felt butterflies at the burial of his oppressor: His Father.

Of course, the penance was a long one, so long he had taken days off training to fulfill them, but since it was all mistaken for his grief, there had been no fuse.

Now he stood a distance under a tree, watching the white and gold coffin that held the dead, slain body of the only human that had made him desperately hold on to life since he was fifteen.

The scores of priests present followed the coffin as it was carried to the hole that would serve as an everlasting resting place.

Salvatore pulled off the shades and massaged the bridge of his nose, kicking against the urge to look away. He needed to see this to understand that Father Martin was never coming back.

But he could follow him down there; paradise wasn't the goal. He lowered the b