Isabella took a deep breath. She had known this moment would come sooner or later.
She gently pushed the sleeping Anton farther onto the bed, covered him with the blanket, and then said in a hoarse voice, "Please come in, Abbot."
The door opened, and Giovanni stepped inside.
He had changed into a simpler gray monk's robe. In his hands was a wooden tray holding a cup of wine mixed with honey. He placed the cup on the table, pulled over a chair, and sat down not far from the bed.
He did not speak right away. He only looked at Isabella quietly, his eyes full of pity. That look made her feel like a sinner waiting to be saved.
"Drink a little." Giovanni slid the cup toward her. "You need to relax."
She shook her head. He did not force her.
With a soft sigh, he began to speak. "I know you are in pain. And I know you hate us."
Her body trembled.
"You hate the villagers. They became beasts and destroyed your home. They took your property. You also hate me."
He looked straight into her eyes. "You think I stirred them up. You think I caused all of this."
She bit her lip and said nothing. Her eyes said enough.
"My child," Giovanni's voice grew softer and heavier, "what you saw was only the surface."
"Have you ever asked why? Why did those villagers who once bowed to your husband suddenly turn into this?"
"It was the Lord's anger, my child. The Lord used their hands to carry out judgment."
"Bartolo's death was not a riot. It was a holy sacrifice that came too late."
Isabella snapped her head up and glared at him. "A sacrifice? My husband's head was smashed with a hammer. You call that a sacrifice?"
"Yes," Giovanni replied calmly. His expression grew even more solemn. "To wash away his sins."
"Sins?"
"Yes. Sins."
Giovanni stood up.
"The sin of greed. He owned the most land and the finest livestock in the village, yet he was never satisfied. Like a gluttonous rat, he hoarded grain that should have fed the poor."
"The sin of exploitation. He made tenants work all year for him and left them barely enough to survive. He ate white bread and drank wine, while those who sweated for him gnawed on moldy black bread."
"The sin of usury. He lent money to the desperate and demanded interest fit for a demon. How many families were ruined by his contracts?"
"And the most serious sin of all," Giovanni said, looking down at her, "blasphemy."
"He mocked the Lord's grace and resisted the sacred Firstfruits Thanksgiving. He placed his greed above the Lord's glory. With his own hands, he opened the door of this village to the devil."
He pointed toward the window.
"The poisoned well. The bread that would not rise. The cow that died suddenly. The fire that burned your granary. Do you think I did all of that?"
He shook his head. "No, my child. That was divine punishment. Warnings from the Lord, again and again."
"But Bartolo did not repent. He went further and beat an innocent tenant to death with a whip. And that innocent blood fully ignited the Lord's wrath."
"That is why last night's judgment happened. It was not the villagers' anger. It was the Lord's anger. It was not robbery. It was the Lord reclaiming what never belonged to Bartolo and returning it to those who truly needed it."
Giovanni's words left Isabella dizzy.
She wanted to argue. She wanted to say Bartolo was greedy and cruel, but he did not deserve death. She wanted to say the villagers were nothing but a mob driven mad. She wanted to say, you, Giovanni, are the real devil.
But she could not say a single word.
Because his logic was flawless.
In this age, in a world where nearly everyone believed in God, his explanation was the only one that made sense. Divine punishment. Judgment. Sin and atonement. These vast ideas pressed down on her like mountains, leaving her unable to breathe.
Her hatred and rage shrank before these sacred reasons. They felt small and powerless.
She even began to waver.
Could her husband's death… really have been God's will?
Giovanni noticed the shift at once. He sat back down, his voice dropping lower and growing more persuasive.
"Bartolo is dead. His body has been punished. But his sins did not die with him."
Isabella looked at him in confusion.
"Sin can be inherited. It clings like a curse. It attaches itself to what he left behind. To his bloodline."
"Do you think last night ended everything? No. It was only the beginning."
"The villagers received your family's property. They will thank me. They will thank the Lord. But their hatred for the name Bartolo has not vanished. They will turn it on you and on your son."
"They will see you as the continuation of a sinner. They will avoid you like a plague. They will curse you behind your backs."
"Your son, Anton," Giovanni whispered softly, looking at the small figure on the bed, "will always carry the name of a sinner's child. He will be pushed aside. Bullied. He will never hold his head high. This sin will follow him like a shadow for his entire life."
"No…" Isabella let out a broken sound.
She could endure suffering herself, but she could not bear it for her son.
Giovanni's words struck her only weakness.
"Then… what should I do?" she begged, looking at him. "Abbot, please, save my child… save him…"
This was the moment Giovanni had been waiting for.
A look of sorrow and resolve appeared on his face as he continued, "There is one way. The only way."
"A way to fully redeem your soul and Anton's. A way to let your late husband's soul rise to heaven."
Hope flickered in Isabella's eyes. "What way?"
"Donate all unclean wealth to the Lord."
"Everything Bartolo owned. The land, the houses, and those debt contracts. All of it is the root of his sins. All of it is cursed."
"You and your son must never touch it again. Not a single coin. Otherwise, the curse will drag you into hell."
"You must give it all, without holding anything back, to the monastery. Let me and the holy monks here cleanse that wealth through daily prayer and Mass."
"This is not loss. It is the final and greatest act of atonement."
"When you sign the donation, you will no longer be a sinner's wife. You will be a devoted soul who offered everything to the Lord."
"Anton will no longer be a sinner's child. He will be a pure child reborn under the Lord's protection."
"And Bartolo," Giovanni paused, then his voice filled with sacred temptation, "his soul will be forgiven because of your great sacrifice. He will escape the fires of hell and ascend into the light of heaven."
"Isabella, my child. Are you willing to make this sacrifice, for your son, and for your husband's soul?"
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