Page 21 of Savior

I’m caught in his dark stare. Something about him isn’t holy at all—or maybe he’s too sacred. Whatever it is, it’s overwhelming.

Like being in the presence of God himself.

He hasn’t moved a muscle, and his hands are still in the pockets of his jeans, but there’s a command to him that makes me want to kneel.

“I’ll behave,” I say, berating inwardly for not giving my usual sass.

Dante lets me go and pins the father with a glare. “Have fun with that one, Father Russo. I’m going home.”

A playful grin tugs the father’s lips up, and I can’t help the slight tingle in my stomach.

“Are you alright? Did they hurt you? If I could’ve gotten to you sooner, I would have,” the father asks as Dante closes the doors to the church behind his exit.

My brows knit together. “Who are you?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

LUCA

Iam a weak man. I’m barely containing the urge to pull her into me. I don’t know her like I did Ray, and the feeling of comfort, while typical, is irrational for a man of the cloth. I can’t touch her, for I can feel the aura thatisher, and it’s too much. It’s too overwhelming on a cellular level.

If I were to touch Sloane, I’d never stop. I’d besmirch my good name, this house, and all hope I have to get into heaven when I die.

“Who are you?” she asks again, and I motion for her to sit in the pew beside her.

She does so reluctantly. I sit next to her, laying my hands in my lap.

Her eyes drift over my hands as they wring together.

“I was close friends with your father when we were younger.”

“You’re a priest,” she says, and I’m confused about whether she’s working things out for herself verbally or if it was a question.

“I am,” I still reply.

“And you’re tied to the Ricci family? How’s that…” She clears her throat. “How does that work, exactly?”

I smile, beside myself, wondering how to answer her. “It’s complicated. But my connection to Ardesia Ricci got you here safely.”

“Safely?” she squeaks, and it echoes through the cathedral, bouncing off each angled peak.

She clears her throat, her cheeks heating with the deepest, most beautiful color of rouge I’ve ever seen.

I want to run the pad of my finger over it and see if it stains my skin.

I shake away from the thought.

“Sorry,” she says quieter. “It’s just that there was a full-on war before Dante burst in and got me out from under the bed. It didn’t seem too safe.”

The idea of what she’d gone through makes me angry to a point I’ve never felt before. “I’m sorry for that, but when you’re going up against a monster, you need another monster beside you to win.”

My words settle, and her eyes look up at mine again. They’re the lightest brown I’ve ever seen, as if her irises are made of pure, golden honey. I swallow past a lump of appreciation.

Keep a handle on yourself.

I shift further away from her, and she notices the gesture.

“You came for me, then?” she asks, and there’s a rasp in her tone that I can’t quite decipher.

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