Tara woke up with the sun on her face. Blinking, she started to turn on her side, but she felt the weight on her hip, looked down to see the mop of messy blonde hair, and resigned to stay put. Instead, she simply draped her arm across her eyes. With her other arm, Tara reached out to rest a hand on Oriana’s back, trying to measure how well the other woman was breathing. 

After their adventure in New York with Brigitte, running through the Throne, Oriana had struggled to catch her breath as quickly as she had before. Ori had been effective that day, but she obviously still wasn’t fully healed from what had happened in Naples, weeks before. At least they’d had a chance to relax and get settled in Philadelphia. The Sewing Factory Lofts had been reclaimed, and Oriana had used nearly all her money to get Shots up and running. That place was turning a profit… albeit a small one. 

The men and women that Bacchus had sent over with Tara had been relocated to Philadelphia. Deciding it was cheaper than hotel rooms or apartments, Tara had simply rented them a large house out in the suburbs. She’d visited once or twice, and she’d loved it: the private chef had cooked her something amazing, the musicians had played for her, the architect and designer had discussed some ideas, and the courtesans had looked at the musicians hungrily… but as she’d left the house, Tara had felt worse, not better, filled with the anxiety of the task in front of her. She needed to get things up and running, or she’d wind up with a house full of babies in nine months. But Tara needed land, permits, construction, decoration, and a dozen merchants to provide their specialties. 

But first, she needed money- much more than she had, currently. It wasn’t an emergency- not yet. Tara had run the numbers, and they had a couple of months before they were really in trouble. Still, they needed an influx of cash before then.

Ori stirred, turned her face into Tara’s hip, and her breathing warmed the spot where Tara had been shot in Sicily. As Ori woke up, Tara shifted slightly and pretended to be asleep. As they’d settled into “normal life” in Philly, making contacts, trying to launch businesses, and often crashing together at one of their places, Oriana had noticed that every time she woke up, Tara already seemed to be awake, thinking and worrying about business. Oriana had seemed bothered by it- wishing Tara would relax more. So this morning, Tara decided to test her poker face. As Ori gradually woke up, Tara focused on keeping her breathing slow and steady, her face a mask. Silently, Tara resolved to play more poker as Ori kissed her cheek and Tara continued “sleeping”; Tara risked opening her eyes slightly to watch Oriana walk away towards the kitchen.

A few minutes later, after mentally running through her business for the day, Tara stood, stretched, threw on a sweatshirt and comfortable pants, and walked out to the smell of vanilla pancakes. Ori was singing softly in Italian and finishing cooking breakfast, and Tara took a moment to appreciate a scene that she never would have dreamed of a year and a half ago: her girl, her beautiful girl, wearing Tara’s robe and cooking her breakfast. Ori grinned over her shoulder as Tara slid into a chair.

“You had some mail come through the slot, so I left it there for you,” said Ori as she finished the pancakes.

Tara glanced down to see three envelopes. She’d contacted the post office in New York and had her mail forwarded here- at least for the next year or so. Tara flipped through the envelopes. Junk mail. Junk mail. Letter from the company she’d like to build Liber… when it ever started to happen… she saved that one for later. And then she grinned, tearing open the letter from Rome. Halfway through the letter, Ori gave Tara her pancakes; Tara mumbled a thank you, still engrossed in the letter. Ori smirked and sat next to her to eat.

Tara,

I received your most recent letter today and I’m drafting a response immediately. Thank God Brigitte is safe. Please give her my love- and my lust, if she’ll have it. The same to you and Oriana, of course. Glad to hear that she’s recovering well. I’ve been in touch with Jo independently, and I’m happy to hear that she’s in the process of relocating to Philadelphia. It’s much better to be around friends. Keep an eye out for her, if you can. She’s so intent on living an exciting life that I can imagine her isolating herself- but don’t tell her I said that.

As for me and my friends, things are going well. The Padrino’s brother has continued to remain discreet, thankfully, and I continue to serve as the Padrino’s LHM. Rex is still RHM. He’s the muscle; I’m the info. It’s a good partnership. We’ve climbed the ranks quickly due to Mussolini’s crackdown of established mafiosi. The Padrino used to walk the streets of Rome like the pope- now he has to hide underground. But the shadows are where I’m most comfortable, and in this particular climate I’ve made myself indispensable to the Padrino. Things are going well. For what it’s worth, you should know that I advocated for you to receive the same lucrative arrangement that the Padrino wanted with your father- but he felt more comfortable working with an older, more established man out of Boston. I tried.

Things here in Italy have calmed down considerably. The raid on Bacchus and the subsequent shooting in the streets was used as an excuse to crack down further on the underworld; I get the sense that this would have happened regardless, so don’t blame yourself. I did have quite the scare recently when the newspapers reported the capture and execution of the three women who’d been involved in the shootout on the road after the raid, but it appears that the government preferred to be seen as efficient. Fortunately, no one knew your names. 

Italy has calmed considerably, and is almost certainly safe for you as long as you maintain a low profile. Which leads me to my next item- one I’m not sure I should even share with you.

In the aftermath of the raid on Francesco Bianchi, Oriana and I spoke one day in the dining hall of Bacchus. She mentioned that she had been left at an orphanage as a newborn baby, and she would be interested if I could find out anything for her about her parents. She seemed almost violently intent that I understand she did not care about this and she did not need anyone, but that this was simply an idle curiosity. Thus I began my casual search. A few weeks after you’d both left Naples, I received a letter from Oriana telling me to stop- that it didn’t matter. So I stopped. Four days after that I received another letter asking me to continue. A couple weeks later she told me to stop once again, but I confess at this point I ignored it, expecting another letter to follow within a few more days. I forgot the whole matter, and I simply made my information network aware that I was interested in hearing about a woman who left a baby at the Ospedale della Pieta approximately 23 years ago. 

As you can imagine, it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. However, in the last year or so I’ve managed to build up a wide-ranging and dedicated network of informants and information brokers- in other words, a lot of people who are used to digging through lots of haystacks. And I believe I’ve found Oriana’s mother- partially. Last week, I had the following piece of information cross my desk: one of my sources overheard a priest counselling another woman pregnant in desperate circumstances, telling a story of a beautiful young woman who’d gotten pregnant out of wedlock, then gave the child up to the sisters of Ospedale della Pieta before joining the order of Clarian nuns. Using this thread as a starting point, I was able to learn the following: 24 years ago, a beautiful Italian woman named Nicoletta Leonti left a newborn child at the Ospedale della Pieta, then joined the order of cloistered Clarian nuns in Tuscany. 

As for Nicoletta Leonti, she was born in Calabria, outside of Catanzaro. Her mother died in childbirth, and her father, a blacksmith, raised her until he got sick and died young, when Nicoletta was nineteen or so. Local gossip gets a bit spotty here, but the rumors seem to mostly agree that Nicoletta went to Catanzaro and wound up having an affair with a foreigner- after which she drops off the map. There’s no other family, and I wasn’t able to turn up any information on this “foreigner”. I tried to get more information from the cloister, but it’s a tough nut to crack. When a sister joins the order, she renounces her former life and takes a new name- one of the saints. There’s no paper trail and no records; the only way to learn about the former life of a cloistered Clarian nun is to ask her. The cloister, of course, forbids outside contact; the sisters are entirely cut off from the outside world.

The only way I see this investigation proceeding is to place an agent inside the Clarian cloister and have them speak to the sisters that are present there to learn which one is Nicoletta. I have several female agents who could potentially handle this task, but to speak frankly they’re all either in bed with or acting as secretaries for men that I need to keep track of to ensure the continued success of our operation here in Roma- while I don’t think this particular investigation would take more than a couple weeks, I can’t afford to pull anyone away from their current assignment. Unlike America, beautiful, talented women don’t grow on trees here. 

I can provide you and/or any other young woman you send with forged identifications and arrange your initial entry to the cloister- there’s an initial period of one year before anyone would take formal vows. I also have a man in town who could smuggle you in simple supplies, such as lockpicks. But inside the walls of the cloister you and/or your agent would be on their own; the abbess and the order have the ultimate authority there. As far as the state is considered, women who enter the cloister are already dead. In some cases, there’s been abuse and even a death or two. Of course, there’s also rumors of beautiful, sexually repressed nuns partaking in orgies, but I haven’t heard anything out of the ordinary- good or bad- from the Tuscan cloister in question. 

To be entirely honest with you, Tara, I’m not sure what to do with this information- which is why I’m writing this to you and not Oriana. You know her best, so I’ll leave choosing the best course of action up to you. Whether you decide to tell her or to research this on your own… well, she’s a lot less likely to shoot you than me. But good luck.

If you do decide to infiltrate the cloister, anyone who you send must be able to speak Italian. You would be fine, as would Oriana of course. Does Brigitte speak Italian? If you try to take Jo with you, please make sure to work with her on her inflection; she learned to speak Italian at the Casa di Piacere- and you know what sort of conversations happened around Bacchus. Currently, Jo can’t ask to pass the salt in Italian without sounding like she wants to pleasure someone under the table. 

Whatever you decide to do, please let me know and I’ll do what I can to help you; at the very least, if any of my friends take the trip over I want to say hello.

Your friend,

Ren

Tara had been so absorbed in the letter that she hadn’t seen Ori leave the room, but she heard the shower running in the bathroom and Ori was gone. 

“Oh… shit.”  Tara said, quietly folding the letter and staring off at nothing, thinking about all the implications of Oriana’s mother being alive or her being a nun and having to go back to Italy to find the truth in either case.  There was a lot to consider from her own point of view, but only one real choice in the immediate.

Tara stood up, leaving the pancakes untouched, a crime in her father’s mind to be sure, but Tara couldn’t think about eating.  She was sure she knew what Oriana would want to do and it was the absolute worst thing right now on every single front.  Their lives were just beginning here in Philly, in the months they’d known each other they’d spent almost every single moment on the move and in one place or another that wasn’t ‘home.’  Finally things were starting to feel like ‘normal’ and this… this was not ideal.

And yet… what did ideal really matter when faced with something like this?  Tara paused and looked at the photo of her parents on the table.  What would she give to see her mother again?  What if she had never known Aurora?  Wouldn’t she want Oriana to tell her about Aurora and her possible whereabouts?  Of course.  Yes.  It was stupid to consider anything else.  Oriana needed this, it didn’t matter what the cost was, she would find a way to make it happen.  If it cost her Liber, if it cost them everything… family was worth it.  Family was the only thing that mattered.  Oriana was her family now.  That settled the matter.  

Didn’t it?

Tara paced.

Of course it did.  It settled things.  This was black and white.  Anything else would be wrong.  Oriana deserved to know.  She deserved to have a say in what did or did not happen concerning her own family.  

What if she didn’t know what she wanted?  What if she asked for advice?  Tara wasn’t sure she knew what to suggest.  She was torn on the whole damn thing and what if her reservations were selfish ones… what if the reservations weren’t fair or logical but emotional?  Tara winced.  

Damn Ren and his amazing band of connections!

In the bathroom, the shower stopped running.

“Okay… honest is a gift you give.”  She whispered to herself.  “Honesty.  Honesty.  I can be honest.  Oriana … she…”  She paced faster and clung to the letter white knuckle tight, holding her breath waiting for the bathroom door to open.

Ori walked out with one towel around her torso and another around her hair. She frowned. “... did I fuck up the pancakes?”

“You should get dressed.  We need to talk.” She said moving over to the table and sitting back down in front of her pancakes.

“Uh oh… did I do something wrong?” Oriana asked nonchalantly, but Tara could read her eyes better than anyone, and there was something there. “No. I didn’t. I… is something happening? Why do I need to get dressed?”

“Because, when I’m done telling you what I have to say you’ll want the option to walk out the door and go clear your head.  I don’t want you to be alone right now… but I know you. So… put your shoes on too. I’ll wait.”

Ori waited, then shook her head. “Just tell me. I’ll stay. I want to stay.”

“Ren wrote to me.”  She said holding up the letter. Ori stared at it, but she didn’t say anything, and the nervousness that was in her face had faded. She did, however, move to the couch and sit down, crossing her legs.

Tara got up and walked over to the couch.  “He tells me you asked him a favor before you left Italy… and then rescinded that request and … re-requested.”

Ori’s eyes got slightly wider, and she nodded.

“He kept his people on it.”  She looked down and took a deep breath before reaching over and putting a hand on Oriana’s knee.  “They came to him with a name. Ren thinks he may have found your mother.”

“Okay. Can I read the letter?”

Tara nodded.  “Yeah.  Of course.”  She handed the letter to Oriana and sat close to her as she read.

Ori’s eyes seemed to devour the words for a few minutes; Tara just watched her read.

“Okay. Well, this is fine,” said Ori. “We don’t have to go. Things are too crazy here, and I don’t need anything from an- her.”

“From a what?”  Tara asked, tilting her head to the side, looking at her with sympathetic eyes.

“I was going to say anything from anyone, but I know you’d grab my towel and try to smack me with it.”

“Well, at least you’re learning.”  Tara chuckled and then sighed.  “This is obviously important to you.  You wouldn’t have asked Ren and waffled about it if it wasn’t.  You want to know something of your past - that’s understandable.”

“I’m curious,” said Ori. “But that’s it. This person doesn’t know me. I told him to stop looking because… I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t want to. Imagine you had a daughter and gave them up to a bunch of nuns. And then you meet her two and half decades later, hoping to find out about this wonderful, happy life she has. ‘What do you do for work, darling daughter?’ ‘Uh, I fucking murder people.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘Yea.’ You know?” She stopped to take a breath, and Tara again noticed that it seemed to take longer than it used to. Her lung was still healing. Ori continued, “And besides, it’s not like she reached out to me at all. She left me at the orphanage for a reason: she didn’t want anything to do with me, ever again. Shouldn’t I respect that?”

“It occurs to me that mothers don’t leave their children at orphanages because they want nothing to do with them.  More often, they have shit they think the kids don’t deserve to have to deal with.  It’s also a big reason why a lot of women join nunneries… take it from a woman who considered joining one.”

“You what?”

“I figured I was fucked up… would shame my family.  Would never be the sort of daughter that my parents deserved.  I … figured if I prayed hard enough maybe God would fix me.”  She looked down and shrugged.  “I tried to tell you that I thought I was fucked up when we met.  I thought you understood.”  She furrowed her brow.  “I thought a lot of pretty dark things for a while… being a nun seemed like an easy and good solution for a good Italian woman in my position.  No shame for my family.  No violation of God’s laws… and lots of chances for me to ask God to forgive me for being… broken.”

“Fuck that,” said Oriana. “I didn’t think it was that intense, that you’d run away and lock yourself up somewhere. Is it… is this something you’d want to stay away from, then? If going there would be bad for you, I don’t want you to come.” Without vocalizing it, Ori seemed to have made a choice that she, at least, wanted to go.

Tara smiled softly and gave a gentle squeeze to Ori’s leg.  “I’m okay now. I also thought you understood that was why I wanted to share what we did with Bacchus.  He helped me to feel … okay with who I am. Just like you did. You both, in some ways, saved me from some really messed up ways of thinking.  I’ll always think of him fondly for that - I didn’t know you couldn’t see how important he was to me. I didn’t fall in love with a hedonist and his fantasyland, I fell in love with the idea of not living in fear of myself.  I never want to feel like that again and I don’t want other people to feel that way either. The House of Pleasure, what I said to Bacchus about it, that wasn’t a lie. I wasn’t just stroking his ego.”

“Yea. I saw that much.”

Tara smirked, “I really, REALLY, meant it.”

“I miss him too,” said Ori, thoughtful. “And I know he was important to you. I get it.  I just… the monastery stuff, didn’t think of you being that way, you know. So what do you think we should do about this? Just go try to to deal with it quickly? Take the private jet, few days, then we’re back? It won’t take long. And once we’re back… we focus on Liber. I’ve got a few freelance jobs in negotiations. I’ll kick you some money over to keep the lights on and we’ll handle it.” She glanced up. “But you’ll go with me, right?”

“Of course.  I’m always with you.”  Tara said warmly. “We’ll go look into this woman.  Maybe it’s not as difficult a nut to crack as Ren makes it sound in his letter.  You’re a young woman looking to make peace with your past. I can’t imagine a sister who wouldn’t see the need to help you do that so you can live a life free of unanswered questions.  Surely they’ll help us.”

“... just us?” asked Ori. “I mean, he mentioned Brigitte, but she might need more time in Philly to get settled here. And Jo… Jo is amazing, and I can see her being useful here… but you might need to bribe her to come on this one. Still…” Ori shrugged.

“Ori.”  She leaned over and kissed Oriana on her cheek.  “We can tell them if you’re okay with that and let them decide to offer if they feel the need - or we can keep this between us.  This is your story to tell… or not.  I am going.  Of course.  Everything else beyond that is what YOU feel comfortable with.”

“I’m not good at this. Rosters. Big picture. Francesco always told me that I was excellent at tactics, horrible at strategy. You’re good at strategy, planning…” Ori frowned. “Brigitte went through a lot of shit in New York. She’s just settling in here. I’d feel better if she was getting back to normal, sharing a few drinks with Eric and telling stories. Besides, she can be on hand to deal with any issues Bacchus’s people have. Jo… I think I want Jo to come. It’s always nice having backup. And the way he makes it sound, it’s not like we’re just automatically in. If just you and I try to get inside and one of us gets rejected, then we’re on our own. If three of us apply, we might have more backup. But she’s said a thousand times she wants adventure. I think if we call her up and ask her to join a nunnery she’s going to laugh at us and hang up.”

She shook her head, “Jo will never say no to us.  I’m pretty confident of that one.  Still, we’ll give her the choice.  And you make valid points about Brigitte too.  I’m sure she’ll see it your way when I explain to her why she’ll be staying here on this one.  I’ll make a few arrangements, we’ll get things square here, and then before you know it we can be on our way back to Italy.”

Tara tried to get a read on Oriana’s emotional state.  “So… are you okay?  You… hungry?”  she nodded to the pancakes unsure of what else to say.  Her awkwardness in full display.

Ori slid over on the couch and half-leaned, half-fell onto Tara’s shoulder. “Fucking Ren,” she said. “I thought this was going to be a nice, boring day for once. Go make your arrangements…” she glanced up at Tara. “I’ll go get dressed, I guess.”

***

Oriana was nearly silent on the flight to Italy. She was legitimately sleeping for part of it, and pretending to sleep for another part- not nearly as well as Tara did. But she was content to let Oriana have her time to think. 

Instead, Tara focused on Jo, climbing over to sit with her and leave the sleeping Ori to her dreams.

“Don’t hate us for dragging you to Europe again.”  She smiled at Jo. “I mean, I know you said you wanted adventure but I figure you gotta be as excited to go back to Italy as we are.  That is to say… not.”

“I did get excited until you mentioned the nunnery thing. Maybe leave me in Paris on the way back? But even with all the bad stuff, Italy’s where… I dunno, before you hired me to come with and rescue Oriana I was just a crazy ex-nurse. I learned a lot about myself on that trip with you, ya know?”

Tara nodded.  “I do. I think of Italy in the same way.”  She looked over to Oriana. “I don’t know what we’ll find, don’t know what to expect or even realistically hope for on a mission like this.  I mean, can we even call it a mission?” she shook her head and then looked to Jo. “What about your family? You close with any of them still?”

“Uh… yea. My brother and I talk a lot. My parents love me. I love them. But my father is a doctor, and when I got fired for banging a married surgeon he wasn’t exactly my biggest fan for a while. Things are okay now, but it’s a lot for him to swallow. My mom and I still talk a lot. She was disappointed in me too, but… more understanding when she saw the surgeon.” Jo smirked.

Tara nodded.  “I should have asked about your family before this point - what with how much you’ve helped me and mine.”  She sighed. “Kinda makes me a bit of a shit friend, really. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. My family’s boring. Doctors get shot a lot less often than- fuck. Sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

She chuckled.  “It’s fine. You know the good thing about this life?  You know the score before you begin playing the game. I bought in at the table.  I knew the ante. My parents did too. No innocent mobsters, no matter how good of people they might have been.  My parents were thieves and murderers. They had a great run. They got more than most people, more than many good people get in this life… children, love, excitement.  They died together. They were blessed. May we all be so blessed.” Tara touched the ring hanging around her neck under her shirt.

“Well, on the one occasion I met your parents I really liked them. Even if your mom kept giving me side-eye after you dad complimented my hair.”

Tara laughed.  “I almost forgot about that… my Dad’s great weakness.  Oh he loved girls with red hair.  Mom never dyed it.  Couldn’t understand that.  You’d think she’d break down once she knew it… but she never did.  Then, of all the great ironies… Victoria’s hair is as red as flames.  You know they named her that because they felt they’d finally achieved victory?  All the wars, the running, they finally felt like it was over - they got to be who they wanted to be all those years and Victoria was the only child born to them not in the middle of hell… well, she would have been I guess.  But… maybe they didn’t see all of that as hell.  Maybe in the middle of the worst of it, they were always their best.  Maybe they just finally came to accept that.”

She looked over to Oriana sleeping.  “Maybe some lives aren’t meant to be … easy.”

“I think you’re right about that,” said Jo, following Tara’s eyes. “Do you… you don’t think she’s going to try to kill her mother, right?”

Tara startled at that question and shook her head, “God no.  I mean…”

Jo visibly exhaled. “Okay. Whew. Good. I mean Ori is my friend. But she’s also the most fucking terrifying person I know.”

Tara hadn’t considered that possibility.  Looking over at Oriana, the girl who had been abandoned to such horrors that Tara couldn’t really comprehend them all, she sighed.  What if she did feel some sense of hate or couldn’t forgive?  What if Tara had projected too much of her own feelings for Aurora onto Ori’s connection to a woman she didn’t even know?  

“Whatever Oriana needs from her mother, we’ll be there to help her through it.  One day, a dark day, we might need her the way she’s needed us.  I’ll be happy to know someone with her skillset is there to help return the favor, right?  We love her.  She loves us.  Family.  We take care of one another.  That’s that.

“Damn right,” said Jo. “I wasn’t saying I didn’t have her back. I just wanted to be… prepared, ya know?”

“I get that.”  Tara said quietly.  “I just, to be honest, hadn’t thought much about it.  I feel like, if I were in her shoes I know what I’d want… but, I’m not her.  She might not even know what the hell she wants or needs from this woman. I mean, at this point, we could be traveling all the way to Italy on principle.  The journey being more important than the destination and all that… maybe, this is a trip she needs to make and … nothing the woman will say will make her feel right.  I mean, what could she ever learn that would make everything feel okay? Feeling … okay has to come from her. Ya know? Still, I can get why she has to see it through.  And so… here we are.”

“Yea. You’ve been good for her with that, though. I thought you were off your fucking rocker when we finally caught up with her, if I’m being totally honest with you. I mean… she’s hot as hell, I get it. But she scared the shit out of me, talking about killing kids and the people she grew up with. Now she seems… softer? A little?”

“The first time we met,”  Tara lowered her voice, “She was trying to kill my mother.  I’d come home in the middle of their fight. Oriana grabbed me to stop my mother from getting the upper hand in the fight.  I was her ticket out of the house.”

“Oh.”

Tara shook her head, “You know those stories about how people meet and … they just know?”  She drew a breath. “I remember her speaking by my ear. I couldn’t see her face, just… the look in my mom’s eyes.  I felt her body. I just… never felt afraid. I should have been. I knew my mother was, my mom probably had never been so scared in her whole life.  At least up to that point…”  

Tara paused.  Her mind drifting to what she imagined her parents final moments might have been like, she blinked the dark thought away.

“Ori… she wasn’t going to hurt me.  She didn’t want to. I just knew it and every time I’ve started to question anything between us, my head goes back to that day.  There’s this clarity I had that day in the foyer. I’ve just always been so certain… it’s why I pulled the gun on the doctors. What happened that day flew in the face of everything I thought I knew, I underestimated how much Catalina and my parents meant to her.  I underestimated the drugs and her pain… and how,” Tara’s voice trailed off, her thoughts unspoken.

For a long while Tara was silent, looking over at Oriana.  Then she turned to Jo speaking in a voice barely above a whisper, “I underestimated how scared she is of her own feelings and how much time it will take for her to ever be okay with them.  With us.”

Jo reached out and took Tara’s hand. “I like the two of your together. You make her less scary. And she makes you… I dunno… badass.”

Tara smiled.  “Yeah.  We do make each other better.  I like that about us too.”

“Well, I don’t have too many friends anymore. I’m always happy to help you guys out. You don’t even have to pay me this time.” Jo smiled. “Just… leave me in Paris.”

***

One hour after the plane landed, Tara, Jo, and Ori were sitting on a bed looking up at Ren, who was standing in front of them.

“Alright,” said Ren. “I absolutely had a dream that started like this…”

Tara smirked, “Was I a blonde in this dream?”

“No,” said Ren, “but you do look ravishing, and a little creative license is fine.”

Tara chuckled, “Well when I get Liber opened, and things settle down here in Italy, perhaps the Padrino will let you have a small vacation?  Then we can discuss satisfying some of your best fantasies.” She winked, clearly smarting off. “It is good to see you again, Ren.”

“It’s good to see all of you, even if things start to diverge from my dream,” he said with a smile as he dropped into a chair, resting his arms on the back of it as he faced the three women. 

“Now… in my dream I believe Jo and Tara started to-”

“Ren,” said Ori. “We’re kind of trying to move fast with this one. I want to be back in Philly as soon as we can.”

“Ah. Of course. Maybe next time.” He smirked. “I’ve got documents for all of you, falsified. Tonight you’re going to get dropped off in three different towns outside the city- tomorrow, you’ll take three buses in. As of tomorrow, you’re strangers.”

Tara looked at Jo and then her eyes drifted to and lingered on Oriana.  She would definitely need all her poker skills to pretend as though she didn’t know Oriana or care for her.  Hopefully nuns were terrible at poker.

“Well, the good news is that I’ll finally get my first real look at how nuns live.”  Tara smiled, trying to reassure everyone that this was going to be just fine. Easy.  

“I know one of the farmers who lives in the village. If you need something from him, write a note in the rightmost Bible in the rightmost pew in the back. He can’t storm the gates or anything, but he can leave you a note back. Maybe some money. Lockpicks. That sort of thing.”

“You make it sound like we’re going to prison.  It’s a nunnery, I’m sure we can survive a week in a nunnery.”  Tara chortled.

“There’s a gate, Tara. They keep it locked,” said Ren with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course, to keep the nuns and acolytes safe.  It’s not like the women there are being tortured.  They’re praying and working… this isn’t something we can’t do.  I’m sure we’ll be okay.”

“Let’s hope so. There have been some cases of abuse, as I said. Each abbess or abbot is an absolute monarch in their own little country. There’ve also been cases of sordid, sexual adventures and orgies where-”

Tara began to blush a little, wondering for a moment if it was true. Jo suddenly seemed much less bored.  “Ren…”  she inserted trying to regain her composure.  “You’re going to get Jo’s hopes up.  This isn’t Bacchus’ house.  I’m sure that nothing of the sort is happening inside.”

“Don’t begrudge a man his dreams, Tara,” said Ren. “But what other questions do you have? Anything? I can’t answer the details about the place, of course, but…”

“The woman we’re looking for,”  Tara spoke up again, “Do we know anything other than what you wrote in the letter?  Any detail, no matter how small might matter to solving the riddle of who she is.”

“Just her approximate age of 43. Brown hair. Very attractive- or she was when she was 19. Other than that… nothing, really. I tried to find out more details from people in her town, but they mostly focused on salacious gossip.” He pursed his lips, thinking. “She liked gelato. And… didn’t like chores? I don’t know, that stuff was when she was like… eight. My best advice would be to befriend people. Talk them up. Dig without looking like you’re digging.”

“I think that’s something at least these two are good at.”  Tara shrugged.  “I think I’ll make a passable nun.  If I happen to spot something, well, miracles do happen.  Honestly, you’ve done so much more than we could have ever asked for, Ren.  Once again you exceeded all my expectations.”

“Just once, I’d like you all to exceed mine in the air of- hey! I’m kidding! Kidding!”

***

Ren dropped them all off in different towns that night, providing them with false identities and rough backstories. Ori was dropped off first, giving Tara a passionate kiss and a sincere whispered thank you, then she gave friendly goodbyes to the others, but she was obviously distracted.  Tara watched Oriana out the window until she couldn’t see her anymore and then became abnormally quiet.

“I’ll drop you off next, Jo,” said Ren as he pulled out onto the road.

“Save me for last,” she said with mischief dancing in her voice.

“Ah. Well. Tara, you’re next. I don’t suppose you worked on inflections with Jo?”

“Very little.  I’m afraid the only hope for her is a story that involves perhaps a sordid past?”  she smirked.  

“That’s probably wise,” said Ren, “even if it means they keep a closer eye on her.”

“Well, if your fantasy about orgies is right, Jo’s bound to be the one approached for such things with that sort of background story.”  She furrowed her brow, “What did you cook up for me? How much do they know about me coming in? Am I allowed to improvise to make it more believable or should I stick to what you came up with?”

“Just for the record,” said Jo. “I’m attracted to men. I mean, I’d jump in bed with Tara or Ori, but-”

“I knew it!” shouted Ren.

Tara smirked, rolled her eyes, and shook her head.

“What were you saying, Tara?” asked Ren.

“My backstory.  How much do these nuns know and how much of it do I get to cook up?”

“Not much. I left them mostly vague for you and Oriana. Jo I pinned down pretty hard… brought here by American parents, they died, she’s still learning the language but fell in love with the country. As for yours.. You’re from a farming village- outside of that, you’re free to cook up whatever you’d like. And yes, close to truth is good. 

“Was just thinking a lie that is closest to the truth is probably smart.  I just lost my parents. I can see that being a damn good back story considering all the shit happening here in Italy.  I’m sure I’m far from the only young woman who has lost people in all the recent upheavals. It’ll give me an excuse to focus on that area of my faith anyway - I suspect the nuns will encourage some closure before I make my final decisions about joining.  Easy to work with something I’m so familiar with.”

“That could be good,” said Jo. Ren nodded.

A few minutes later, Ren dropped Tara off at the small inn she’d be staying at for the night. Jo hugged Tara as she took the blonde’s spot in the front seat.

“Good luck!” shouted Ren, before Jo closed the door.

***

Tara had spent some time the night before working on her story.  It was easy to keep near the facts of her own life and so her life story became one of growing up in a loving family in a rural area.  She’d learned the arts of hunting and a love of God young.  The recent tragic deaths of her parents are still fresh in her head and in many ways she was still saying goodbye to them.  God, obviously, is on her mind and she knows her father would have been proud of her if she took up the life of a nun.  All these things were, certainly, true.  As true as they had been in Canada when she told Billy she was thinking of dedicating her life to Christ.  Of course, he’d not realized then why she’d come up with that - nor the inner turmoil she was coping with.  He was simply proud that his ‘brightest child’ was turning her eyes to heaven.  

Tara had thought about picking a new name for her mission, but the truth was that her name wasn’t uncommon and it was Italian.  The nuns would likely have no information about the American mafia and so there was no need.  It would be much easier to react to her own name naturally and so, again, the lie she developed would be as near to the truth as possible.  Her brother was raising her siblings. Money was growing shorter by the day.  Her not being with them was a way to protect them from poverty… well, that last bit was as near to a lie as she’d come.  In truth, Tara was protecting her from poverty by being away … but not by not draining their limited resources.  Instead, she was hustling for them, but the nuns didn’t need to know that part.

Everything was as good and solid as she could make it.  The tactics were sound.  It was only a week.  How hard could it be?  Like she told Ren, this wasn’t prison.  This wasn’t the fucking mob.  It was nuns.  Nuns.  Women who loved God.  Easy peasy.  She could do this.  Tara had faith.
 

***

The Clarian convent was located south of Florence, in the hamlet of Morrocco in municipality of Tavarnelle Val di Pesa. The rolling green and golden fields of the Tuscan countryside stretched to the horizon in every direction; this was a solitudinal place of prayer and contemplation. There was a small church used by the surrounding farmers and inhabitants of the hamlet, and the cloister was directly attached to the church. When in use by the nuns, the church door was locked and they could enter into the church. When in use by the lay people of the hamlet, the doors to the cloisters were locked.  High stone walls surrounded the cloister, which consisted of a courtyard for walking among the olive trees, a dormitory building, a hall for eating, and a small medical building that opened to the outside world to provide healing services. 

The four new novices had arrived separately and were ushered into the church by a deacon, where they were warmly greeted by the pastor, Father Oronzo Crea, an older looking Italian man of about 60. 

“Good afternoon, potential novices. Abbess Teresa will be will you shortly. Before she comes in, it is my custom to make sure novices understand what they are committing themselves to- and what they aren’t.” He cleared his throat. “The order of Discalced Clarian nuns has existed for hundreds of years, founded by St. Clare of Assisi. The Clarians dedicate themselves to a life of prayer and contemplation. Prayer, contemplation, and the care for the sick will be your only vocations if you become a Clarian. If you are accepted as a novice, you will be invited to participate in the Clarian community here for three years- at the end of this period, you will either decide to stay, decide to leave, or be asked to leave. While you will take the secular vows of the Discalced Clarians upon your entry today- if you are accepted- these vows will not bind you to the religious life; those vows will occur at the end of your three year novitiate. As the pastor of this church, I work closely with the Clarian community and offer daily mass.”

Father Crea studied the potential novices carefully. 

“I invite you to take a seat. Spread yourselves out to the four corners of the church Shortly, you’ll meet with Abbess Teresa. If she accepts you, we will celebrate a mass where you make your initial vow. Does anyone have any questions?”

Tara remained quiet and did her best to only give the other girls a cursory glance.  She figured it would be odd not to look at them at all. Who wouldn’t be curious about the other women entering a nunnery with her?

Oriana looked… strange. She was wearing a simple, sack-like dress unlike anything Tara had ever seen her in. They’d all dressed simply- although Jo had failed more than the others to hide her figure. The fourth girl, brown-haired and olive-skinned, seemed most excited to be there; she was beaming. Tara found herself giving the last girl a smile before directing her eyes downward.  It was how she imagined she might have looked, had she come to this place on a different road.  Excited about a new start in life instead of preparing to live something of a lie.

Tara rose from her seat first.  She moved to the front left most corner of the room and waited, silently for someone to come speak with her.  Now, of course, she began to resist the urge to look at the others.  To remind herself where she was and what she was doing, Tara folded her hands in her lap and silently recited the Lord’s prayer.

Abbess Teresa was a small woman, but her demeanor and her iron gaze gave her a presence beyond her stature. She wore the traditional brown habit of her order; the hood covered her hair. She could have been anywhere between 55 and 75. The Abbess was flanked by two other older looking sisters, but they remained on their knees in front of the altar as the Abbess moved around to speak to each potential novice individually. She moved to Tara first and sat behind her, so that Tara and the Abbess were both facing forward.
“What is your name, young lady?” The voice was strong, but not unkind. 

“Tara.”  She said softly, respectfully, and in perfect Italian.  “I’m Tara Mastrosimone.”

“Why do you want to join the Clarian Sisters?”

“I wish to be nearer to the Lord, Our God, Christ in whom all things are possible.  I know that this order is a good and charitable group of women.  I wish to serve in my life, to do good.  It is all I have hoped to do in life.  My father, may he rest in peace, would have been proud to have had me to choose this path and … I’d like to think that I’ve done something in life to honor him.  He was a good man.  My mother an honorable woman.”  Tara’s voice trailed off at the mention of her parents.  Both things she’d said were true, but she had been caught off guard by how much voicing those things would hurt and it took a bit of struggle to hide the still raw feelings in her tone.

“When did your parents pass, Miss Mastrosimone?”

Tara drew a steadying breath, “The loss is still very new - I buried them only three weeks ago, but I promise I have been thinking of becoming a nun for years.  I’ve prayed on it, for a long time before my parents passed away. I know some women run to hide from their pain in prayer - God is a great comfort to me, but this is not my only reason for seeking you out.  I believe God has guided my steps to this place, I pray that I serve his ends in coming here.”

“There are many religious orders where you can serve God and honor your parents. Why join the Clarian cloister?”

Tara struggled a moment, and then she looked up to Christ on the cross hanging above the altar and the words came out - reluctant at first and more confident towards the end, "Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console.  To be understood as to understand. To love as to be loved."

She exhaled and smiled as the memory of Billy speaking the prayer of Saint Francis below the big oak near the river flitterd out of her mind.  "I've spent a lot of time thinking about me. Feeling bad for myself. Wishing people could understand me. Wanting love..."

She swallowed.  "I'm here because I want to console.  I want to understand. I want to love and God willing I'll do those things.  St. Claire and St. Francis ask us to contemplate our place in the world and how we can give of ourselves and in doing so find pardon for our own sins.  I should be so fortunate as to be worthy of such a calling."
 

The Abbess was quiet for a moment. “What of the world will you miss the most?”

Tara had to think about that a moment.  “I knew love.  Outside of God.  I should think that it will hard to not have earthly passion again.  Though, I know I should not feel that way.  I seems … human.  And to be honest, a part of me thought it would be nice to have a family like my parents had.  To know the joy of raising a child or… I don’t know.  I want to tell you that it will be easy.  That there’s so little I’ll miss, but I know that’s grief.  It’s not truth.  I have had a happy life outside of serving people… outside of church.  It stands to reason that I could be happy again.  I realize that.  I will be happy again.”  It was then Tara realized, she was sad.  Very sad.  She’d been content with Oriana and Philly and Brigitte… and Jo.  And yet, she had been sad at the loss of her house full of siblings and her parents love and constant presence in her life.  It was a strange thing to hit her now, here, telling lies to a nun.

“This earthly passion. Tell me about it. Is the person you shared this with still living?”

“The only man I’ve ever been with is dead.”  She whispered, her eyes falling downward, the sound of pain a bit more cutting in her tone.

“You have a great deal of grief in your life, Tara Mastrosimone.”

“My father always told me that God does not give us more than we can bear.”  She nodded to herself. “I think it’s true.  And maybe these sad things in my life will bring some joy too.”

The Abbess nodded, although Tara couldn’t see it; then she stood up and walked around to face Tara. Her face was steady, but her eyes were kind- yet curious. “You may join us. However, I will allow you to remain silent in your vow to remain here three years, although I expect you to loudly proclaim the rest. Grief is a difficult wound. Many have found their grief healed here- at least partially. But some spend a few months with us and find that cloistered life is not their answer. I like not to hold someone against their will, even if that authority is permitted me. Remain silent during that vow, and if you choose to leave prior to three years, speak to me privately.”

Tara smiled at the Abbess.  “May God bless and keep you.”  She said sincerely.  She knew that a woman so dedicated to God would be kind and was thankful to be proven right.  

“One final question for you, Miss Mastrosimone. Each of the last three months, we have a new applicant every week or two. On this single day, we have four. Do you have any sort of explanation for this?” The Abbess studied Tara’s eyes as she asked the question.
Tara looked to the other girls then, one at a time and then back to the Abbess.  “I don’t believe in coincidence.  My mother taught me that; beautiful patterns is what she used to call it, when you connect seemingly unconnected things.  Like… how rain comes just when it’s needed.  I’d like to think that maybe I and the other young women are able to help each other on our journey here.  Maybe this isn’t for all of us, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have a purpose in coming.  Maybe, it will take all four of us for even one of us to find our way.  Or … all of us to find all our different paths?”

The Abbess nodded thoughtfully, then went to speak to one of the other girls.

The next hour passed slowly for Tara, as the Abbess moved to speak to the stranger, Jo, and Oriana. Tara’s gut went cold as the Abbess spoke to Oriana, who began crying at one point. Seemingly, though, they were all accepted as they were invited to remain for a private mass. Tara followed along with the Latin, and it’s clear that Ori did as well. Jo did her best, but wound up staring at the stained glass after fifteen minutes or so. The fourth girl… was hard to get a read on. When mass was finished, and they’d listened to the readings, listened to the homily about obedience, and shared in the Eucharist, Father Crea stepped forward and sprinkled holy water on them.

The Abbess stepped forward. “When I ask you for your name, reply with your new name, one of a saint, rather than your old one. Your new life begins today.”

The Abbess stepped in front of Oriana. “What is your name?” “Nicarete.”

The Abbess stepped in front of Jo. “What is your name?” “Joan.”

The Abbess stepped in front of the stranger. “What is your name?” “Mary.”

The Abbess stepped in front of Tara. “What is your name?”  “Ruth.”

The girls proceeded to girl their novitiate vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, although Tara remained silent during the mention of “three years”. When they were finished, the Abbess smiled at them.

“I am Abbess Teresa. The woman on my right is Sister Felicity, the woman on my left is Sister Perpetua. They will guide you into the cloister and provide you with your habit. We will speak later this evening.” Bowing her head, she left to speak with Father Crea. 

The other two sisters, portly women who seemed to be in their fifties, led the four novices through the door on the left side of the church. When they had all passed through it, the iron grate swung shut and locked behind them with a resounding metallic thud.