Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Cisco
Something brushes my face, and I jolt awake, sucking air into my lungs in ragged, desperate gasps.
My bedroom window frames the pre-dawn Roman sky, clear of clouds.
White sheer curtains billow, snapping like sails in the balmy wind.
That must have been what brushed against my face.
A solitary fly buzzes near my ear, and I swat it away with a shudder, remembering my nightmare. It zooms outside through the window.
In one quick stride, I’m there pulling the hinged windows closed and locking the latch.
I collapse onto the bed and bury my face in my trembling hands. The phantom swarm still vibrates against my eardrums.
Mercy.
Pulse spiking, I twist around and frantically sweep the sheet with my hand. My fingers collide instantly with a soft, warm body. She lies on her side, facing away, completely safe. I look up at my reflection behind her in the closet’s mirrored door and hate the fear in my eyes.
I feel like a different man than I was before last night.
And then Mercy happened, and now she is everything.
If I lost her—the shadows pulse in my veins, eager to deploy.
They’re hungry, but not for the woman sleeping beside me.
Even though she has the standard amount of sin I sense in most everyday people, the curse doesn’t want her. It’s almost . . . repelled by her.
I ease down behind her and gingerly trace my knuckles over the swell of her hip, down the dip of her small waist, and then up her arm until I settle on her freckled shoulder.
When I lower my lips there, the frantic buzzing in my head fades to a dull drone, and my hunger for her grows, still unsated after everything we did last night.
We woke an hour after falling asleep, both needy for more. We fucked in the shower. The memory of it is fresh in my mind, slippery and sudsy, stirring my cock.
Unable to stop myself, I tuck myself flush against her spine, grind my erection between her buttocks, then stop with a frown. She needs food, water, and time to recuperate.
She stirs, a soft murmur vibrating in her throat.
“Go to sleep, piccola,” I whisper, pressing my lips to the warm pulse point beneath her ear. “It is just me.”
Her breathing evens out.
I should pull away. I should leave her in peace. But I need her heat. It’s so hard to resist. I need to bury myself so deep inside her that the ghosts can never find me.
God help me, I want to invade her so completely, and her peace is all around me.
But dawn is almost here. Paolo could arrive today, and we don’t have enough information about his whereabouts or who remains loyal to him. I must also update my team . . . and call the Pope.
With a heavy sigh, I pull away from Mercy and dress into the only clothes I brought with me—my clericals. I am technically still a priest until the Church officially laicizes me. Or maybe the police will come to take me back to Blackfriar.
Still, since I’ve heard nothing about what I did at the Vatican, I won’t know.
I dress in my black shirt and trousers, but leave the white Roman collar on the dressing table. Even if Mercy hadn’t ruined it with her teeth last night, even if I’m devoted to her now, I still can’t bring myself to throw it away.
But I know that I can’t, in good faith, continue in this vocation after willingly breaking my promise of celibacy. Multiple times. And I wholeheartedly intend to keep breaking it.
When I’m finished dressing, shaving, and brushing my hair, I collect my two cell phones from my bag and drop them into my pockets. The strange, ancient book Bianchi gave is also there, staring at me. It looks important. I probably should read it.
I glance at Mercy’s sleeping form, and then back at the book.
She needs her rest. Even if she denies it, I know she is sore.
Faint yellow bruises have formed in various places over her body, all in the shape of my fingers.
The woman has no self-preservation instincts.
I’ll have to instill a strict aftercare regimen for our sex life.
Perhaps even a few boundaries and rules.
Dio, I’m hard again.
I quickly pick up the book and then drop a knee on the bed to get closer to Mercy. I lower my lips to her ear and entwine my fingers in her thick hair. She smells so good. Somehow, that florally, heady scent is still in her hair even after we washed it with a different shampoo.
“Mercy.” I scrape my fingers over her scalp. Kiss her cheek. “Wake up, piccola.”
She moans and pouts, lashes fluttering but not opening.
“Okay, babe.” Her sleepy, husky voice wraps around my cock and strokes.
I growl into her neck, then force myself to let go.
“N’more butt stuff, m‘kay?” She slurs and rolls away. “Immasore.”
Laughter bubbles beneath my ribs, and I swallow it down. I don’t want to wake her. But I don’t want to leave without telling her where I’m going.
I pull back a little but raise my voice. “Mercy, wake up. I need to tell you something.”
“Is something wrong?” She twists back to look at me through streams of red hair. “You’re using that voice.”
“Nothing is wrong.” A smile tugs at my lips. “I’m letting you know that I’m going to the café across the piazza for espresso.” I pause. “Then I might head to the basilica. I want to make peace with God before I call the Pope and tell him I’m no longer fit to be God’s servant. Go back to sleep.”
She sits up, blinking, breasts bare and bobbing.
“Whoa, whoa. Wait just a minute, buddy.” She cups my jaw, lifting my attention to her face. “I think what you mean to say is that you’re not fit to work for the Church as God’s servant. It’s their rules about sex. Right?”
“You have a point.”
“As far as the Hildegard Sisterhood is concerned—and me—if you want to keep being a priest there, who gives a fuck if we fuck?”
The possibility of continuing to support a community spiritually didn’t occur to me. Cautious hope trickles in, yet I still feel unsettled. After everything I’ve learned, I’m not sure if remaining a priest is the right path for me anymore.
Mercy smooths a finger over the crease between my brows.
“You don’t have to decide now,” she murmurs.
I drop a kiss onto her forehead. “I will need to tell the Pope, nonetheless. It cannot be helped.”
She grabs my hand as I leave. “Are you sure?”
“Mercy, I have never been surer of anything in my life.” My thumb swipes across the back of her hand. “If I can’t have you, then I am empty. Now go back to sleep. I will bring back food. You must regain your energy, no?”
“Mm. This is true.” She flops down easily. “Bring me something yummy. No olive oil, though. Had enough of that for one night.”
I’m still chuckling as I walk down the stairs.
The osteria is as quiet as a church when I descend. There’s no one at the bar, and the dishes and mess are still out from last night. On the ground level, it’s much the same. With the restaurant closed, no one will be awake for another hour or two.
I spot an espresso machine and decide it’s safer to grab myself a coffee here than walk around trying to find an open café at this time, or a late-night bar.
It doesn’t take long to filter the espresso. I put it in a cup, tuck the book beneath my arm, and then let myself out to find somewhere to read and watch the sunrise.