Page 20 of Sinner
"You look like a man with a secret, Father."
I startle, nearly dropping my phone as Luca Ravello slides into the booth across from me. The exclusive restaurant—his choice, not mine—hums with the quiet conversation of New York's elite. White tablecloths, crystal glasses, waiters who appear and disappear like ghosts.
"Am I that transparent?" I ask, pocketing my phone.
Luca's green eyes sparkle with amusement. At six-foot-six, he dominates any room he enters, but it's more than his height—it's the confidence, the unspoken power that radiates from him. Today, he wears a charcoal suit that probably costs more than I make in three months.
"Only to someone who's known you since you were stealing communion wine at thirteen." He signals to a waiter who materializes instantly. "The usual for both of us."
I don't bother asking what "the usual" is. Luca has been ordering for me since we were boys, and his taste has never steered me wrong.
"So," he says, leaning forward once the waiter departs, "confession time, old friend. What's her name?"
The question hits like a physical blow. "How did you?—"
"Please." He waves a dismissive hand. "I've seen that look before. Just never on you."
I draw a deep breath, feeling the weight of my collar against my throat. The silver cross I wear beneath my shirt seems suddenly heavy, a physical reminder of vows I've already broken.
"Caterina," I say, her name a prayer on my lips. "Caterina Benetti."
Luca's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes—recognition, perhaps. "Benetti," he repeats. "As in?—"
"Yes. That Benetti family." I run a hand through my hair. "And she's engaged to Anthony Romano."
Now Luca's eyebrows rise. "You certainly don't do things halfway, do you, Nico? When you fall, you pick the most complicated woman in New York."
The waiter returns with two glasses of scotch—aged, expensive, warming my throat as I take a grateful sip.
"I didn't choose this," I say quietly. "I fought it. God knows I fought it."
"And yet here we are." Luca studies me over the rim of his glass. "How bad is it?"
"Bad." I stare into the amber liquid. "I love her, Luca. Not like some schoolboy crush or... or some midlife crisis. I love her in ways I didn't think were possible."
"And she feels the same?"
I nod, remembering the way she looked at me this morning, her dark hair spilling across my pillow, her eyes holding mine as she whispered that she loved me. "Yes."
"Well." Luca leans back, a slow smile spreading across his face. "The pious Father Moretti, felled by Cupid's arrow. I never thought I'd see the day."
"This isn't funny," I snap, though there's no real heat in it. "I've broken my vows. I've betrayed everything I stand for."
"Have you?" Luca asks, suddenly serious. "Or have you finally found something worth standing for?"
The food arrives—some delicate arrangement of seafood that I barely register. I push it around my plate, appetite gone.
"It doesn't matter what I've found," I say. "She's engaged to a Romano. Her family is Benetti. And I'm a priest. There's no happy ending here, Luca. And yet, I can't envision my life without her. I don't want to picture it without her."
"There's always a way, my friend." Luca takes a bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully. "You could leave the priesthood."
"And then what? Ask the daughter of a mafia family to leave her fiancé—another mafia family's son—for me? They'd kill us both."
Luca's expression turns calculating. "Leave the mob families to me."
I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. "What could you possibly do against the Benettis and Romanos? You're a businessman, Luca, not a miracle worker."
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes, so quickly I almost miss it. Then his easy smile returns. "I have connections you wouldn't believe, Nico. Resources. People who owe me favors."
