Page 43 of Savior

Excitement makes me giddy, but I have to remind myself that this means nothing. He’s just being nice.

The rejection I felt in his office is still gnawing at my stomach, and I let the feeling of it wash over me to keep me in check.

“I’ve never been to the Shore,” I admit softly, turning back to watch as Luca takes exit 102 onto the New Jersey Turnpike.

“Really? We don’t live far. Your parents never took you? We used to go in the summer all the time. My mom would…” Luca trails off as he sees me watching him dreamily, gobbling up all the information I can about him. “I didn’t mean to…” He swallows, and I realize why he’s stopped speaking.

He knows my parents. He knows I’ve never left the city, let alone Brooklyn, and why. My heart pounds harder in my ears as pity glazes his eyes over as he flicks them between me and the road.

“Don’t pity me.” Turning back toward the window, some of the excitement of where we’re going dims as the blanket of his empathy for me lays heavily over it.

“I don’t pity you, Sloane. Shit, maybe I do. But there’s nothing wrong with that. You had a shit life.”

“I had the life I deserved,” I answer without turning away from the window. My breath clouds the cold glass as I breathe out every emotion welling in my chest.

“No one deserves the hell you’ve lived through.”

I bite the inside of my cheek as his hand comes down on my thigh, reminding me of last week’s heavy moment between us in the living room. Though it’s wrong to allow it to, I let his touch steady me.

And then, the world doesn’t seem as dark and full of horrors. Not with Luca Russo lighting my way.

“Are we allowed to be here?” I ask, turning back and facing the priest. I can’t help but feel like I’m growing far too close to him for my liking—for my own sanity.

“We are. We’re meeting John, a driver for Lorenzo Ricci, who will take us places where we’re safe to go. The Riccis also own a small private portion of the beach, and we’ll be safe to walk at sunset.”

The beach?!

The same giddy energy makes a wide grin tug my lips up. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.”

We arrive at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the Jersey Shore and transfer into a blacked-out SUV. In the SUV, John introduces himself and gives us a rundown of the itinerary.

It took a little under two hours to get here, and in that time, I worked up an appetite, so I’m glad when he says he’s taking us to another Ricci family holding and that there’ll be pasta.

My stomach grumbles as we roll up and we’re escorted in through the back. Yet another private dining room is opened for us, and I’m sipping a glass of red wine when the waiter finally brings me my stuffed shells with Alfredo sauce covering it.

The room surrounding us is dim. The walls are a dull shade of tan, contrasted by hand-painted burgundy flowers.

Luca looks more sinful beneath the amber glow of the iron light overhead, and I try not to stare too long or make it obvious that I am staring.

“Ray,” he starts, pulling me from my focus on tearing apart a garlic knot to dredge through my lingering Alfredo sauce on the right side of my plate. My eyes flick up to find him sputtering as if he can’t continue.

“Yes?” I prod.

“He was a good dad to you? Before all the drugs, of course.”

Sitting back, I drop the garlic knot onto the small plate beside me. Now, I’m the one spinning to find the words to answer.

He clearly values my father, who my father was to him, and who he knew before.

Honesty is always the best policy, though, right?

“I didn’t know my dad before the drugs. I knew him in between the drugs.”

His brows tug together as he lays his fork on the edge of his plate.

“He’d try to get clean. They both have over the years. At those times, I glimpsed what my life could’ve been. Honestly, it made it worse when they relapsed.”

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