Mercy
After a few minutes of muffled giggles and argumentative shouts about writing it wrong, the door suddenly opens, and the orphans sneak out in single file.
Lucia turns back after they pass, puts her finger to her lips, and whispers, “We were never here.”
I salute her in all seriousness, and then remember something.
“Wait!” I shout after them. “Come back! I have a gift for you all.”
They rush back to me in a wave of excitement and babbling, each in their native language. Through it all, I find what I need in my load of shopping bags and hand each of them an individual gift bag stuffed with new clothing, underwear, shoes, and a personal interest item.
They go quiet and pale as they look inside the bags.
So still. Almost afraid, or uncertain. It breaks my heart that their first instinct when receiving a gift is this.
But I get it. Up until recently, I wasn’t good at buying nice things for myself.
Oh, sure, I enjoyed splurging on the mission.
And I kept all the luxury pieces for myself—including the toiletries and perfume.
But in the back of my mind, those things were always for the Sinner. They were never for me.
But the Angelotti family billion-dollar inheritance came through to Cisco last week.
He wanted nothing to do with it, so he donated a massive chunk to the Sisterhood.
He also put a sizable amount in a trust for the orphans.
He only purchased one item for himself—which he refuses to tell me about.
He deposited the rest in an account and handed it over to me to use however I saw fit for our Hildegard Sisterhood family.
“What is it?” Lucia whispers, still looking inside the bag with awe.
My God, they haven’t pulled out a single item.
“Go open them and find out.” I gesture for them to leave, and they do—after giving me a big hug.
“Get used to it, girls. There’s more coming.”
Lucia is the last one to leave. “Why?” she asks.
I shrug. “It’s Christmas.”
She scowls, and I grin because it’s her growing feistiness I love the most.
“But it’s August,” she says.
“Oh, shoot.” I click my fingers. “I thought it was still July.”
“Mercy!” She drops her jaw. “Christmas isn’t in July.”
“Tell that to the Australians.” I wave her off. “But they do everything down under there. Off you go, before I find a chore for you.”
When they’re gone, I return to my room and read the “cryptic letter” they left beside the picnic basket.
Take this basket, and head five hundred paces.
Head East six hundred paces
Head outside, go up the back path, and go directly to the Church.
Go directly to Jail. Do NOT pass Go. Do NOT collect $200.
OR ELSE.
By order of the Peaky Blinders.
I groan and slap my face. Zeke’s been watching too much television with them, and we’ve clearly had too many game nights. But it’s helped keep them entertained, and their minds off Raven.
And it’s kind of funny.
I’m still giggling about their new sense of humor when I’m closing in on the church, basket in tow. Before I open the big, heavy door, I take a moment to fix my headscarf, adjust my cleavage, and smooth down the nonexistent crinkles in my new jeans.
At first, when I lost my hair, I was unbothered. All I cared about was being alive with Cisco, and my family was virtually in one piece. Losing Raven was, and still is, our priority.
But now that a few weeks have passed, and even with the faster-than-normal regrowth, I’m feeling awkward. It’s stupid. I’ve never felt self-conscious. Ever.
But I’ve never been bald before.
And I’ve never had someone as hot and amazing as Cisco fall in love with the perfect-looking version of me, then stay with me on the less-than-perfect days. Nerves riot in my stomach, and I check inside the basket to make sure the gift I bought him hasn’t miraculously disappeared.
Nope. There it is—a mini olive oil bottle, prefilled and ready to be used on the—ahem—salad. I smile, close the lid, and reach for the door handle.
It opens before I get there, and Dominic storms out. No acknowledgment. Not even a backward glance as he stalks down the path toward the abbey’s main building.
His shoulders are hunched and a little bony beneath the thin t-shirt. His sweatpants hang on his hips. I’m sure I glimpsed dark circles under his eyes. He’s lost weight and probably isn’t sleeping either.
I’m not sure how much time he and Raven spent together while I was in Rome with Cisco, but I didn’t think it was that much.
They never banged as far as I knew. But it seems the two of them have connected on a deeper level already, but Dominic is tight-lipped about everything unless it’s about a plan to save Raven.
“Soon,” I tell myself with a heavy sigh, and enter the church.
My heels click loudly on the floorboards, drawing Cisco’s attention from where he sits on the front pew before the altar.
His sandy blond hair is already back to its old length, trimmed, combed, and perfect for running my fingers through.
His scowl evaporates upon seeing me, and he raises his hand in a half wave.
I wave back, quickly glance around to see if we’re alone, and then secretly lock the door after confirming.
If anyone needs to come in, I’ll take the blame for closing.
But Cisco is a popular man during an apocalypse. Over the past three weeks, I’ve shared him with everyone else, almost every minute of the day, until he collapsed into our tiny, two-cots-shoved-together bed.
Because he’s watching, I dip two fingers into the holy water font by the door, touch them to my lips, and salute the big guy on his crucifix hanging on the wall at the front of the church.
It’s not the Sign of the Cross, but that reminds me too much of Cisco’s family.
And since my faith has kinda, sorta, been a little restored after the relic purged Cisco’s curse, I figure I owe him a chance.
I’m also a good girl and genuflect before the tabernacle when I cross to Cisco at the front pew.
His warm brown eyes are full of sardonic humor when I sit gracefully beside him, cross my legs, and put the basket on the floor. I lean in to kiss him demurely on the cheek. When I ease back, I catch him averting his gaze from my cleavage.
Target locked. Weapons deployed.
“And how was your day, darling Padre?”
I expect him to flirt, comment about my outfit or the basket, but he frowns and faces the altar, wringing his hands. Tension is evident in the tight lines of his black-clad shoulders.
“Is it Dominic?” I ask, remembering who left as I arrived.
He sighs heavily through his nose. “Sì. But also—” His frown deepens, then he clears his throat, and his expression relaxes. He forces a smile and nods at the basket. “You found it.”
My eyes narrow as I recall the private car to the abbey, and wonder if that added to his worries. He’s still waiting on an official offer from the Pope. What if it isn’t what we thought? What if they refuse to let Cisco remain a priest and to keep me too?
After Raven was taken to Hell, he confessed to me that he felt helpless without his dark side and how ashamed he was that he froze. He vowed to learn more about how to be a better priest and exorcist.
But I don’t push him for answers. I might have spent the entire day having a break and enjoying myself. Cisco’s not taken a moment for himself.
I smile and touch the wicker basket. “I caught the orphans midway through planting the clues, but don’t worry, I pretended I didn’t and walked straight out.”
His smile widens to something breathtaking and my heart stops beating. He has no idea how handsome he is, even without that little scar over his lip.
He reaches up and gently runs his knuckles over my scarf. “This is new.” When I blush, he grips the silk ties and pulls my lips to his, and mumbles deeply against them, “You have been busy enjoying the bank account, no?”
“Whatever do you mean, Padre?” I breathe out. “I’ve been busy all day toiling in the archives.”
His lips curve against mine, and his hand drops from my head to squeeze my thigh.
“This is also new.” He slides his flat palm up my waist and around to my halterneck’s bare back.
“This is also new.” He buries his nose in my neck, inhales, then releases a low rumbling, “Mm. This perfume is the same—but new.”
“I bought the orphans a few things, too. Are you mad?”
“Of course I’m not mad.” He pulls back suddenly, glowering. “I’m very happy.”
I hold back a laugh. He realizes his mistake, shakes his head, and scrubs his palm down his face.
“Okay, piccola. I get it.” He raises his palms in surrender. “I promise not to look angry.”
“I like your angry face,” I purr.
Brown eyes snap to me and smolder with lust. We stare at each other like that for a long, long moment. Each second that passes makes me wetter, needier, and aching for him to bend me over the pew and fuck me right there. But I refuse to make the first move.
This is a little game he likes to play with me—testing whether I can wait.
Eventually, he stands, offers his hand to me, and waits until I take it. Then he collects the basket and says, “Before I tell the news, I have a surprise for you.”
“News?”
“We had visitors from the Vatican today.”
I knew it.
“Oh.”
“Come.” He tugs me after him as he walks beside the pew, but instead of heading down the aisle to the oratory, he guides me up the sanctuary steps and across the chancel.
“Where are—” I cut myself off when he lets go of my hand to draw back a tapestry from the wall.
It leads to the old belfry.
“Quickly,” he mumbles, casting a wary look over my shoulder. “Before anyone sees.”
“Oh, it’s fine.” I wave him down. “I locked the front door.”
His brows wing up, but I don’t wait to see them fall into a scowl. He definitely needs a break, now more than ever. I head through the tiny door and into the cramped spiral staircase.
It smells old and musty and a little like mildew. I’ve not been here in years. Not since that old priest I teased. Frowning, I almost turn back and leave, but Cisco shuts the door firmly.
The light dims.
Cisco slides his hand around my nape and looks into my eyes. “It was a long time ago,” he says, knowing exactly why I’m hesitant to be here. “It’s just me now, piccola.”
“I love you.”
His eyes crinkle. “I love you too.” He kisses my forehead, spins me to face the stairs, and then swats my rear end. “Muoviti. Move quickly, before the sun goes and you ruin the surprise.”