Unholy

He hears my confessions.
Now he can't unhear them.

I keep showing up to church.
I don't speak. I don't confess. I just sit there-close enough to remember what it felt like to be his.

Father Rafael Vitale thinks he can keep this professional.
Measured. Contained. Holy.

I'm none of those things.

I'm Alessio Trentacapelli-the technocrat of the Park Avenue Kings. I live in shadows, break systems, and protect my brothers at any cost. I still believe in God. I just don't forgive Him for demanding the man I love.

Rafael is discipline and devotion.
I'm want and resentment and everything he was never supposed to crave.

We were boys together. Then lovers.
Then nothing we were allowed to keep.

Now we're orbiting each other again behind a confessional screen-through silence, ritual, and everything we refuse to say out loud. Every look lingers. Every boundary bends. And every time he tells me no, it hurts worse than the last.

Because the priest with the steady hands and the quiet voice?
He remembers me.

And then we cross a line we both know by heart.

If he makes me choose between losing him again...
or giving in to something we can't take back-

I already know which sin I'll commit.