Page 20 of Savior

But he never does.

When the van finally stops and the door opens, I’m let out in front of a massive cathedral.

A church? What the hell?

“Come on, we don’t want to be seen,” the passenger says as he grasps my arm and rushes me inside.

They’d just stolen me from Matteo Barone, and whoever the hell he is, these men seem afraid of him.

I do as I’m told and hurry with him inside the church.

The feeling that washes over me inside the dimly lit church makes me tear up again as the man helps me into a pew.

“Father Russo,” the passenger says, “you sure you can keep her safe until this dies down?”

“I’ve got her,” a deep, graveled voice says, washing over my skin like the smoothest silk.

I wipe my eyes and look up.

A man with kind brown eyes and silver hair looks down at me. His hair is in contrast to his young, beautiful face.

He’s not in any religious garb. Instead, he’s in jeans and a T-shirt, his veined hands shoved in his pockets.

Even though I’m being left with yet another man I don’t know, something about him puts me at peace.

I remind myself that not all men of God are good. I’ve seen many things growing up, and even those in the church have averted their eyes to things they could’ve helped with.

“The boss wants to meet with you in the morning,” the man says, and the priest waves him off.

“Tell him to text me, Dante. Get home to your wife.”

Dante throws his hands up in defense. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me twice. Don’t get mad at me when Ardesia Ricci stands at your door unannounced and pissed off because he hates texting.”

Ardesia Ricci.

The Grim Reaper of New York?

Fuck!

Fear prattles back through my veins like a steam engine chugging to life. I stand, moving to get around Dante to get to the door.

Dante is faster, catching up in a few quick strides and wrapping around me like a cobra.

He turns to me, lifting me off my feet as he moves back toward the priest. “Seems she knows the boss, Father.”

The priest smirks ruefully. “Seems she does.”

He gives Dante a distasteful look. “Put her down. She’s not a prisoner.”

“Well, she is if she wants to keep all her pretty bits. She steps on that street, and one of Barone’s men sees her, she’s done for.”

Dante’s words race through me as my eyes remain locked with the priest’s.

“She’s heard you. Haven’t you, Sloane?” I’ve been kidnapped, abused, raped, and mishandled for weeks on end, but hearing him wrap his tongue around my name does something to me, and I grow complacent in Dante’s arms.

I nod. “I heard him,” I rasp out.

“If Dante lets you go, will you behave?” the father asks me.

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