Page 29 of Sinner
“It’s time,” I say simply.
An hour later, Luca stands in my quarters, his imposing frame making the room seem smaller. He hands me an envelope thick with cash and a set of keys.
“Cabin in the mountains,” he explains. “Remote. Stocked with essentials. The car is nondescript, parked two blocks away.” He pauses, fixing me with those penetrating green eyes. “You understand what you’re doing, Nico? You’re lighting a fuse that can’t be extinguished.”
“I know,” I respond, tucking the envelope inside my jacket.
Luca sighs, clasping my shoulder. “I’ll help however I can. But be careful, my friend. Love makes men blind, and you can’t afford blindness now.”
We drive the short distance to Caterina’s apartment, parking a safe distance away. She slips inside while I wait but her front door, heart in my throat, imagining her father’s men discovering us. When she returns, she carries only a small backpack and a bag.
“Everything I couldn’t bear to leave behind,” she explains, her eyes bright with fear and exhilaration. “Letters from my mother. A few photographs. Clothes, toiletries, and a book you gave me.”
“Are you sure you can leave your family behind?” I ask.
“I’ve lived in a gilded cage my entire life,” she says. “My father’s daughter, nothing more. This is the first time I’ve ever chosen my own path.”
I take her hand in mine, feeling the weight of her trust, the enormity of what we’ve done. Ahead lies uncertainty, danger, and the wrath of powerful men. But beside me sits the woman I love, and for now, that’s enough to keep driving into the gathering darkness.
Chapter 16
Caterina
The small stoneof my rosary digs into my palm as I clutch it inside my pocket, the only anchor in a world suddenly spinning out of control.
Dusk settles over Brooklyn like a shroud, painting the narrow alley in shades of purple and gray. Father Nico’s arm around my shoulder feels both protective and desperate as we slip through the rectory’s back door. My small bag, containing everything I could grab in five frantic minutes, weighs nothing and everything at once.
“Luca’s just around the corner,” Nico whispers, his breath warm against my ear. “Keep your head down.”
I nod, unable to find my voice. Freedom seems so close I can almost taste it—metallic and sweet on my tongue.
Then the world explodes in light.
Headlights blaze at the alley’s end, harsh and blinding, slicing through the inky darkness like a knife. A sleek black sedan materializes from the shadows, its presence ominous and blocking our escape route entirely. My lungs seize, refusing to draw breath as the familiar silhouette emerges from the driver’s side, casting a long shadow in the harsh light.
Anthony.
My fiancé—no, my jailer—steps into the pool of light, his figure imposing and inescapable. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms laced with ink. I watch his knuckles flex, those same hands that have never struck me but always carried the unspoken threat that they could. His face, with its chiseled features that no doubt sends butterflies fluttering through most girls’ stomachs, only twists my insides with dread. His eyes, sharp and piercing, bore into me, and the air feels suddenly suffocating, heavy with unspoken fears.
“No,” I whisper, the sound barely escaping my throat.
The passenger door opens, and my heart stops completely. My father steps out, flanked by two of his most loyal soldiers. Don Paolo Benetti—the man who taught me to ride a bicycle and how to shoot a gun by my twelfth birthday—moves with the quiet grace of a predator. His face betrays nothing, but I know that stillness. It’s the calm before a storm that levels everything in its path.
I freeze, my muscles turning to stone. Father Nico shifts immediately, placing his body between me and them, a human shield against the violence I’ve spent my life trying to escape.
“Get back inside,” he murmurs to me, but it’s already too late.
Anthony’s smirk slithers across his face as he calls out, “Going somewhere, Padre?”
The mockery in his voice makes my skin crawl. But it’s my father’s voice that turns my blood to ice—quiet, controlled, and infinitely more dangerous than any shouting could ever be.
“You take my daughter from my home, from her future?” His eyes, so like my own, bore into Father Nico. “You think a collar protects you?”
I step forward, my fingers finding Nico’s arm. Not to seek protection now, but to offer it. Because I know what my father is capable of when he believes someone has stolen what belongs to him.
And in his world, I have always been property.
Anthony takes a step forward, his hand sliding into his pocket with slow deliberation. The weight of whatever he’s carrying pulls the fabric down, and my heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird.
