Page 99 of Filthy Dirty Dom
Anything she might say seemed trivial compared to what Alex had just revealed to her. She’d always known he was a good man, a hero, and this was just further proof.
She must have spoken out loud because Alex said, “I’m not a hero, Leslie.”
She frowned. “Excuse me? You helped save children when our government wouldn’t.”
“And I’ve also killed, in the name of that very government, and for other reasons you don’t know about.”
“To protect,” she shot back.
“Not always,” he said grimly. “I’m not the man you think I am, Leslie.”
She responded without hesitation. “You are exactly who I think you are, Alex. If you killed, you had a good reason. And you won’t convince me otherwise.”
To that, Alex said nothing, just clenched his jaw and kept driving.
As the car continued to weave through the breathtaking landscape, Leslie settled back into the plush seat, her heart pounding in her chest because of all that Alex had revealed. She’d suspected, of course, that Alex struggled with the darkness of his past, but hearing that he’d tried to save children and had failed to save them all, she understood his obsessive need to protect her—even from himself—a little more. And yet, that he refused to see his actions as heroic convinced her more than ever that Alex was denying himself happiness in part because of misplaced guilt. Because he didn’t feel worthy.
And that killed her.
They drove for almost an hour before Alex took a sharp turn, carrying them off the main road and onto a narrow, winding path that cut through an ancient forest. The trees here were gnarled and ancient, their branches twisting towards the sky like the arms of ancient deities, their leaves whispering secrets as the wind rustled through them.
Just when she thought they were heading nowhere, the forest gave way to a massive clearing and the sight that met her eyes was nothing short of majestic. An ancient monastery, made of weathered stones and terracotta roofs, sat against the backdrop of towering hills, its façade glowing golden in the soft rays of the setting sun.
Alex guided the car through the intricately wrought iron gates. As the car rolled to a stop, Leslie found herself holding her breath, her heart pounding with a mixture of awe and curiosity.
The monastery was magnificent in its simplicity. Weathered stone walls, covered in moss and creeping vines, held the stories of centuries within their cold embrace. Tall, arched windows adorned with stained glass depicted scenes that she could only guess were significant to the history of the place. A large wooden door with intricate carvings and iron detailing stood at the entrance, looking like it could withstand a siege.
As they stepped out of the car, the peaceful silence of the countryside enveloped them, broken only by the soft chirping of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. It was like stepping into a different world, one untouched by the relentless march of time.
Beside her, Alex looked up at the imposing edifice, his face an unreadable mask. And then, as if sensing her gaze, he looked at her, his eyes reflecting the glow of the setting sun. “I called Father from the last airport. He’s expecting us. “He reached out, entwining his fingers with hers, just as he had repeatedly done since they’d left New York.
The ancient wooden doors of the monastery opened before them, the sound of the old hinges groaning in protest breaking the serenity of the surroundings. In the threshold stood a tall but frail figure. He was clad in the traditional attire of a priest, his black cassock slightly faded and the white collar around his neck a stark contrast to the rest of his outfit.
His face, weathered by age and illness, was framed by a thinning ring of gray hair. His eyes, sharp and clear, held a depth of wisdom that only came with years of solitude and contemplation. A warm, yet somber smile played on his lips as he opened his arms in a gesture of welcome.
"Alex!" His voice, deep and resonating, echoed in the silent courtyard.
Alex released Leslie's hand, stepping forward to embrace the priest in a hug. Father Alessio clapped him on the back before stepping away, his gaze then falling on Leslie.
"E chi è questo?" he asked, his eyes appraising her with a kind curiosity.
Alex, taking a step back, introduced Leslie to him. "This is Leslie.”
The priest extended his hand, a soft smile spreading across his face as he welcomed her in a rich accent. "I am Father Alessio, it is a pleasure to meet you, my dear."
As Leslie shook his hand, she felt a sense of calm emanating from him, soothing her frayed nerves. Father Alessio had a kind, inviting demeanor, seeming at peace with his life and the fact that he would soon be leaving this world. “I’m pleased to meet you, Father.”
As Father Alessio guided them through the quiet, stone corridors of the monastery, Leslie walked slightly behind them, taking in the austere beauty of the arched windows and the ancient religious art adorning the walls.
Alex and the priest were engrossed in hushed conversation, their tones low enough that Leslie was unable to make out the words, not understanding the language more than a few words here and there. Alex looked serious, the muscles in his jaw clenched tightly. The priest, however, maintained his calm demeanor, his eyes on the path ahead.
Leslie heard Father Alessio say the name Mia. Alex had said Luca and his family, which would obviously include Mia, didn’t know of his relationship with the priest. And yet, Father Alessio knew Mia’s name, which meant even if he hadn’t met her, Alex had talked about her to the man.
That told her that Mia had meant something to Alex.
Something special.
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