Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
LUCA
I am 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 that is her, 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.
“I did. I heard about your kidnapping and contacted the only man I thought could help me. After what you’ve endured in your life, after losing Ray, I didn’t want you to go through anymore...” I trail off as I see her assessing my words, her lip lifting in either anger or repulsion.
“I’m tougher than I look,” she says.
I laugh, not meaning to offend her but out of pure amusement. “Sloane, the fact that you’re alive today means you might be the strongest person on the face of the planet.”
Her eyes flick down and away from mine. “Everyone knows my struggles, yet no one ever stepped in.”
Her words stab me right through my heart. “Few possess the strength and selflessness to step in and save someone, Sloane. And nowadays, there’s enough red tape to bury someone just for trying.”
Her honey eyes find mine once more, full of something unspoken. “But you saved me.”
I scoff, standing to escape her gaze before I do something stupid. “I did what I’m called to do. That’s all.”
She says nothing more on the matter. I don’t need her to think she owes me something or get any ideas about me because I saved her.
I was called to serve and do His work, and I did what I could.
“I have to stay with you?” Sloane asks, and my unrelenting heart patters away in my chest, nerves churning in my gut.
Everything I’m about to do is against every rule, every vow I swore. This is the part that just anyone wouldn’t have done for Sloane. How far am I about to go to keep her safe?
“You do. Unless you have somewhere you can lie low while this situation with Matteo Barone dies down?” I ask her.
She looks to the floor. I know she doesn’t, but it felt wrong not to give her the option. To let her choose her fate instead of letting someone else choose it for her.
She shakes her head. “My mom’s house isn’t safe.”
Damn right, it isn’t, I think, but keep it to myself.
“Well, then, you’ll stay with me. I’ll keep you safe while Ardesia deals with Matteo. It might take some time. Men like him don’t like to have things taken from them.”
She swallows. “So, I’m going to live in a church now? You’re confident God won’t strike this place down because I’m inside it?”
It’s an attempt at humor, but it makes me sad she feels that way towards herself.
“You’ll stay with me. But, no, God won’t burn this place to ash because you’re in it. If anything, he might shine more light on the place while you’re here.”
Her cheeks fill once more, and I bite my lip. “Why?”
“So that you can heal,” I answer, and silence falls between us at my words.
Her eyes lock on mine, and I feel as if I’m being splayed open on judgment day, my sins laid bare before her.
“Come, I’ll show you your room.” I motion for her to stand, and it’s the first time I realize she’s in a nightgown.
When she moves out of the pew and passes me, I realize there’s blood on the back of the gown. I nearly rip it from her skin and ask her what happened while she was with Matteo, but I know from what Dante relayed to me from Ardesia that she’s only been with Matteo for a few hours, and I can only hope that means that she’s alright.
Because if she’s not, I’ll break every vow I’ve uttered to get her justice.
Heaven be damned.
I showed her to her room and showed her how to work everything in the bathroom. I don’t mean to imply she’s an imbecile, but I’m nervous in her presence.
Having her in the house will be the biggest trial I’ve ever been through.
“If you get me your sizes, I’ll have someone get you clothes and all you need. Just tell me whatever you need, and I’ll see it done. But I’ll grab you some of my sweats to sleep in for now.”
She nods, a grateful look falling over her face.
I grab her the smallest sweat set I have and move back into her room, where she’s running her finger over the cross on the nightstand.
Something about the action is much more meaningful than it should be, and I have to scold myself for looking too long.
“Here you are. If you need anything, my bedroom is on the other side of the living room. There’s food in the kitchen and television if you want to watch anything. I sleep hard, so you don’t need to be quiet.”
She snatches up the sweatpants as I ramble and slides into them, letting the nightgown fall over them as she tugs her feet through.
“Alright. Does Ardesia know how long it’ll be until I can go free? Or has he found any of my belongings from the first man who took me? I’d love to call my best friend,” she’s saying, but her words are muffled in my ears as she’s pulled her gown off. Her breasts are heavy and sinful on her chest as she grabs the sweatshirt and begins putting it on.
Her dusky nipples bead at the cool air on them, and I can’t look away if I fucking tried.
She doesn’t register my spiralling, though. She hands me the nightgown, looks me deep in my eyes, and says, “Burn this, will you?”
I nod, ready to do whatever she tells me to. “I will.”
I turn to leave, and her words finally hit my brain. “First man who took you?”
“Don Adamo held me in a basement with other girls. There are others down there still, some very young. He sold me to Matteo,” she recounts, and her harrowing journey has my grip tightening on the nightgown in my hand.
“Are you alright, Sloane?” I turn back, stopping when I register her flinch of discomfort.
“I’m… I survived. I’m fine.”
I nod, knowing not to push her further than she’s willing to talk. “Well, if you need anything or need to talk, I have a lot of resources at my disposal. If you don’t want to talk to me, I can find someone who will listen. Someone who can help.”
She seems offended by the idea. “I’ll be fine, Father Russo. I always am.”
She climbs into bed, gets under the covers, and turns her back to me.
Like Samson, she’s the pillar of strength, blessed with immense courage to undergo her trials. She, too, was given the blessing of endurance. But I’d give anything for her not have endure another horror.
An hour later, I’m standing over the burn barrel in the courtyard, the one we usually use for leaves in the fall, watching her nightgown burn.
“So, Adamo had her, eh?” Ardesia says, and my lip snarls over my teeth at the reminder. I squeeze the phone in my hand.
“Yes, that’s what she said. She also said there are more girls in his basement.”
“Problem is,” Ardesia goes on, “which fucking basement? All these bastards have a million fucking houses. Those girls could be anywhere. Could she tell you how long her car ride to Matteo’s house was?”
I shake my head at the idea of pushing her anymore, even though he can’t see me. “I think it’s going to take time, Slate. I think Matteo…” I swallow, unable to speak the words aloud.
“You think he raped her?” he says absently, and I hear as he scrubs over his face in defeat.
We’d gotten to her the quickest we could. While not in any of the five families, Matteo Barone is a force to be reckoned with. He has money and owns half of New York. He’s the man the families all want allegiance with.
And only one has it.
The Adamos.
I’m very confident that what Slate did to get Sloane back for me will begin a bloody war between the five.
One we haven’t seen for decades.
“I can’t push her, Ardesia,” I say curtly.
“I understand, Father. When she’s ready, if she’s ever ready, see what she knows. It could help us free the other girls.”
“I’m so sick of this shit,” I say, exasperated.
I try my best to keep my composure and keep the curse words in my head, but I know I can be myself with Ardesia. He never judges.
“You and me both, Father. You and me both. Keep me apprised of how she’s doing, and I’ll get you the things you requested.”
“Thank you, Ardesia. And thank you for getting her back. I know the trouble you went through, and I know what it will cause.”
He chuckles darkly on the other end of the phone. “Matteo Barone has needed to be knocked down a peg for years. Don’t worry your head about what goes on out here, Father. You take care of you and Sloane.”
I agree, ignoring how his referring to Sloane and me as a unit made my body tingle.
A twig snaps behind me, and I swing around to find Sloane trudging over the cold sidewalk without shoes on.
It’s nearing winter, and the frigid temperatures show themselves at night.
“You shouldn’t be out here without shoes on,” I tell her.
She rolls her puffy eyes. She’s been crying. “I couldn’t sleep.”
We stand there in silence, watching the flames dance over the nightgown for what seems like forever.
“Thank you, Father Russo,” she says, and I don’t bother asking if she means for sending the Riccis or for burning the nightgown. She owes me nothing. Not even her thanks.
Because half of me knows I did it for selfish reasons.
After seeing her picture, something feral took up residence inside me. Something that’ll ruin me if I give it the time of day.
There was no way I’d let them keep her in their possession.
Because she is mine.