The boy blinked, absorbing the weight of the offer, but he did not flinch. Without asking permission, he knelt on the grass, reaching up to place his small, grimy hand atop Dominic’s knee, right over the fine Italian trousers.

“Can I pray for you, Mister Dominic?” the boy asked softly.

Dominic opened his mouth to shoo him away, to rebuke him, but he found himself rooted in place. There was an innocence in those dark eyes, a sincerity that demanded trust.

“Do as you wish,” he whispered, exhaling through the cracks of disbelief.