Hitman: Resurgence

Sicily

GONTRANNO, SICILY. IT HAD BEEN TOO LONG since he had last stood before the tall oak doors in the exterior of the church. It was morning and 47 heard the singing of birds.

47 hadn't brought any guns. It didn't feel right to enter that church with guns. Again.

He entered the church. Everything was just like it was when he left the place, more than 20 years ago. The white and dark cyan chess-pattern in the floor, the tall columns adorned with heads of lions, orange and light-green arches in the ceiling. In the wall opposite to the altar, the confessional still stood. He went in and kneeled.

_Lead me, O heavenly Father, in the path of right. I walk alone and stumble in the dark. Show me the light, and I'll go there. Let me find peace in my own heart and save me from my enemies.

47 didn't consider himself to be a religious person, but it felt right to say that.

_Not many people know that prayer, not in these days. Tell me son, why have you come so far to this church forgotten by its community?

47 didn't recognize the voice, although definitely not Italian.

_I come here to speak with Father Vittorio, he is a friend. I left something of mine with him a long time ago, and time has come for me to take it back.

_So it must be dire to you if I inform that you come in a late hour, for Father Vittorio has left this earth a long time ago.

The information struck 47 and he fell on the seat of the confessional.

Vittorio had died.

_How? When?

_He passed away sleeping. More than two years ago. I can take you to his grave.

A young black priest left the confessional and took 47 to the back of the church, to a small concrete cross sticking out of the ground. Vittorio's name was written on it.

_Now that I see you, I recognize you from Vittorio's stories. The angel that saved him. This is not the first time we meet. – The priest said. – I come from South Sudan, and my origins are with the Dinka people. You are Mr. Taylor, and you saved my brothers so long ago and brought us to Father Vittorio. Thanks to him, we have been given a second chance in life.

47 looked down. He remembered. The slaves in Fez. al-Fulani. The Puissance-Treize assassin, Marla.

_Kola was right, Mr. Taylor. We never forgot your name. She, as most of us did, moved away from Italy. Only a few of us chose to follow Vittorio's steps. – He looked at 47, expecting an answer. 47 was silent. – But don't let me hold you back. Why, may I ask, you come to recover what you left behind? After so long?

47 stood in silence, looking at the grave. It took long until he answered.

_The one thing I kept hidden for all these years, one that represents the worst of me, the book from my creator. A person, dear to me, has been kidnapped, like Father Vittorio before her. In exchange, I must hand the book.

The rustling of the trees in the wind was the only sound that could be heard. The shadow of the leaves were moving upon Father Vittorio's grave.

_Men came here before, looking for it. Twice. Once when I was little, the last time was months ago. Vittorio hid it very well. – He smiled. – He used to say there was never once a gardener who took care of tomatoes as good as you did ever since you left. Not even me.

47 thought for a moment.

_How... was he? Before his death. – 47 was still looking at the grave.

_He never once stopped tidying your bedroom, and never left me or my brothers sleep there. In all these years, he always expected you to come back.

47 closed his eyes. He stood like that for a moment.

He remembered the last things Vittorio had told him before 47 left, two decades before.

_He made me promise. – 47 opened his eyes. – To follow the right path. To live my life the right way. To follow my calling. He gave me a rosary, but I left it behind.

_I know. He kept it.

47 looked at him. He continued.

_He told me that if one day you should return, I had to give you the rosary as a reminder. He didn't say of what.

47 knew what it was.

He tried to focus.

_You can keep it. Where is the book?

_It's in the altar. Follow me.

They got back to the church. In the altar, all 47 could see was a Bible.

A Bible. The perfect cover.

47 picked the book. It was abnormally heavy for a Bible, and seemed to have more pages than one should expect, but the contents of Ort-Meyer's journal were more than writing. Pictures and other papers were attached to its pages, making the book heavier.

_Before I allow you to take this, son, I have one question to make. Did you materialize your promise? Did you walk on the path of the good and righteous?

47 looked at him.

_No, Father. I have not.

The priest looked down. He spent some time thinking before looking back at 47.

_It's never too late. – He smiled. – You were silent when I told you about my origins. You never believed you saved us from your own goodwill, did you? Father Vittorio believed otherwise.

The young priest walked across the church, and entered a door to the left, leaving 47 alone.

As he exited the church, carrying the book beneath his arm, he looked back.

He had sworn, so many years ago, that he would never forget those who betrayed him and those who never failed his trust. He would be carrying nothing from Gontranno but a lesson: never to trust anyone and rely on his instincts. To forget the past. That he would do justice for himself. That he would choose the truth he liked.

Was that still true in his mind after all those years, after everything he had been through?

He couldn't say.

47 got in the rented car again and drove back to the small airport he had arrived. As he climbed up the stairs of the private jet to face the cheerful flight attendant once again, something fell from the book, the sound of the fall being muffled by the velvet carpet.

Therosary.