Page 32 of Savior

He laughs, and the look on his face grows worried. “If I had all the answers, I’d be able to tell you why the universe has been so cruel to you. I’d be able to fix…” His words bite off as my anger sours my face.

“I don’t need to befixed,Father.”

Something about using his title straightens his back. “I didn’t mean?—”

“You did. You see a project. I thought… Fuck, I don’t know what I thought, but I didn’t think you were like everyone else.”

“Sloane, no.” He grabs for me as I rush past him to get to what’s become my safe space, my room.

His hand wraps around my wrist, and I look down at where the connection is, causing my breath to burn in my lungs. All my anger is gone, washed away like he’s the embodiment of holy water.

Neither one of us speaks. Neither one of us is breathing at any pace of normality. Our eyes lock as I look up from where he’s gripping me.

“I didn’t mean to imply you were broken.” His voice is gruff, filled with something I can’t face now, not after everything.

“I’m used to a darker world than you are, Father. I am a lot tougher than I appear.”

“I don’t doubt that one bit.”

“I’m going to go lay down.” I don’t know why I’m saying it until I realize his grip on me has only tightened.

It feels as though it’s no longer for my comfort, either. It’s for him.

Like he’s holding onto me, pleading for me to unburden him of something he can’t speak aloud.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” he says.

“But I thought I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere.”

“I can figure something out. I’ll keep you safe. Go get ready.”

I can’t help but see the excitement lining my bones as I do just as I’m told. Once I’m dressed, I stand before the mirror for the longest time, running my eyes over the space where I can still feel his touch.

Like he marked me.

I bite my bottom lip as a soft knock at the door startles me, and I grab my jacket and toss it on, thankful he thought to get me clothes since I can’t return to my apartment.

“Ready?” he asks.

He’s in jeans and a button-up shirt. His spiced scent is more substantial, and I want to lean in and drown in it as he prays for my wicked soul, but I shake away from the ridiculous thought.

“Ready,” I tell him.

“Good. I coordinated with the Riccis and found somewhere I can take you to get you out of the house for a bit.”

As he leads me outside and into his car, opening the door, I realize I’m in way over my head. I can’t help the racing thoughts about him—no more than I can tell the wind to stop blowing. Ialso know that, eventually, my dark world is going to bleed back into existence to ruin everything.

Luca leadsme into the back of a restaurant, and the hostess greets us in the kitchen as if she’d been told to.

“Welcome to Dolce Vita, Father Russo,” she says, looking him up and down, as I’m sure he gets often with how he looks.

But if he does, he doesn’t let on.

No. His attention is on me. I look up at him, and he smiles warmly, ignoring the hostess before him.

She clears her throat, clearly put off by his dismissal. I’m thankful for it.

“Mr. Ricci called ahead, and I’ve prepared the private dining room for you,” she tells me now, and I nod.

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