Page 129 of Savior

“Please, help!” I scream as loud as I can, but no one comes.

Not even the god Luca loves to pray to.

“Go on, Hermosa, let me hear you beg some more,” Matteo says.

He presses one hand into my chest, holding me down as the cold metal slams inside my body, muscle, and tissue, giving way to accept the molestation.

I continue to fight and cry.

In times like these in my life, I lose faith in humanity and the spiritual divine altogether.

How can it be real?

Then, my eyes cast down over a cord on the side of the bed, where the button for the morphine hangs diligently. It’s as if the same god I was taunting is handing me a blessing.

I snatch it into my hand and click the button as many times as I can, breaking apart as Matteo continues his torture.

“We’ll make you into the prettiest, most well-behaved flower, Hermosa. Don’t you worry.”

A blissful fog overtakes my body, and I relax into the mattress, closing my eyes and forgetting the reality around my physical body.

I sink down, down into a place where I’m back with Luca, reading before the fire with nothing but the low crackle of the hearth as music.

But in that solace, I pray.

As hard as I ever have before.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

LUCA

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks of utter hell on earth.

I flick the light off in my former office, turning back to look over the space. Tomorrow, a new priest will move into the office and the rectory, taking over my job and making it his own. It’s surreal to think that I’ve taken this step.

Even with her gone, though, I’m changed. Down to each molecule rushing through my body. My very makeup is altered because of her. She came when I was already faltering in my faith. When I should have been gripping on even harder.

“Ready, love?” Mom asks as I enter back into the nave. Standing, she slings her purse over her shoulder.

I grip my box firmly. “I am.”

“I’m proud of you, you know?” she says as we load my last box into the trunk.

I nod.

There isn’t anything to say to her.

I’d resigned my post, with pushback from the bishop and the church because of my pristine record and standing within the church—if they only knew what happened in that confessional between Sloane and me.

A grin plasters on my face, but it falls into a frown at the thought of her.

Ardesia hasn’t been able to pinpoint where Matteo is keeping her hostage, and with the politics between the five families so tense right now, he’s treading carefully.

Without a word about her, I’m going insane.

“You want to come over for dinner?” Mom asks, and I shake my head.

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