Page 2 of Savior

She and I both have blonde hair, but she has blue eyes, and I have brown ones. Where I’m curvy, she’s slight and tall.

“So are you. Knock it off.”

She smiles sadly, and I can’t determine where the sadness stems. “Not as beautiful as you. It’s a shame.”

“What’s a shame?” I ask her, furrowing my brows.

She shakes her head, eyes growing wider with a speck of fear coloring them. “Oh, nothing. I’m being silly.”

She pulls me in for a hug, and I wrap around her, relishing in the human contact as whiskey and beer coat my veins in a latent humming.

“I love you, Sloane,” she says, and though it’s not our usual interaction, I return the sentiment.

“Come on, let’s get back to the girls before they start making out with one another like last time.”

Just like that, the strange moment is over, and we’re back to normal. Myra’s like that sometimes. I think it’s what drew me to her. She should be the picture of perfection, and she is on theoutside, but inside, she’s a riddle of a girl that no one will ever solve.

“Oh, come on,” I tease. “I like it when they make out. Then it’s awkward for the next few times we get together. Don’t ruin my fun!”

She tugs me back toward the table. “Fine, but only because I love you.”

The night drags on, and we drink far too much. I feel so much freer when I’m heading down the street toward my apartment. My shoes are in my right hand, my purse in my left, and I’m humming some song that got stuck in my head before last call.

I asked Myra for a ride, but she said she had an early morning, so I began my trek home. It’s ten blocks away, in the dark, but I’ve got enough bourbon coursing through me to push the alarm to the background.

I pass an alley and swear I hear something shift, but at this time of night, the rodents and animals are out looking for midnight snacks, and most of them are feral.

I hurry past and continue humming, unaware of the man behind me, until his hand comes around my mouth, his chest slamming into my back as he pricks my neck with a needle, pressing it inside.

I gasp behind his hand, screaming with all my might as I try to swing my shoes toward his head.

“Too bad I have strict orders, little one. You smell fucking divine,” he says as the world goes fuzzy around the edges.

He backs away, giving the illusion I can escape. But I can’t, and he knows it.

It’s me who doesn’t realize it until I collapse onto the pavement, body sprawling out as he steps over me and watches me vanish inside myself.

Help.

CHAPTER ONE

LUCA

The face in the mirror is gaunt. Damn sure weary. Doing good has taken its toll on my body and soul. Because, as a Father of the cloth, I’m not supposed to be trolling the night like a vigilante. The thing is, I’m not a man who can sit back and watch my city crumble, either.

“Father, we’ve got her,” a voice says, breaking me from my spiraling thoughts.

Gripping the sides of the sink basin tightly, I turn to find the eyes of Ardesia Ricci. I’d baptized his son when he was only a year old, officiated his wedding before that, and now he’s before me with blood spattered on his cinnamon-colored skin.

Sniffling tugs my eyes to the woman I’d recovered only moments ago. I made it as far as this bathroom and came inside to reflect. Why? I don’t know. I’ve been working with the Ricci crime family for years to combat the trafficking in this area.

At first, I would have panic attacks when I got home from going with them on a mission. Full-on anxiousness would overtake me at the thought of the church finding out who I truly am and my life being snatched away from me.

I’m a man of God. I always have been. I’ve always known I would be a priest. Even when my mother told me it would be impossible to give her grandchildren if I became one.

“You alright, Father? I can take her out to the vans for you. Why don’t you get on home?” Ardesia says. Condescension laces his tone, but I’m too tired to scold him.

One could say I’m too weary—something I’m never supposed to be, as the example of the Bible walking on two feet.

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