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Raphael made a show of pushing his plate away. “Well, now that’s been established, Willa, darling ...” The endearment felt out of place. Forced. Manipulative in nature. “Weren’t you through with your breakfast?” His expression was unreadable.
My throat clenched, and I tried not to be distracted by Lucifer’s retreating figure out of the corner of my eye.
I gave myself a mental smack upside the head.
You can do this.
I’d learned long ago how to stroke a monster’s ego when necessary. “Aye ... there’s just one thing I’ve been wanting to ask you ... darling.”
Raphael preened under my undivided attention. “What is it, Willa? What can I give you?”
He was smooth—I’d give him that.
“I’d like to visit St. Patrick’s today.”
Raphael leaned forward, steepling his hands. “Unnecessary—we have a chapel.”
Until now, I’d found myself in the unlikely good graces of Raphael Flynn. It was a risk, but I couldn’t give up so easily. “Please ... Raphael. I’d really like to visit St. Patrick’s.”
I held my breath waiting for the inquiry.
He still hadn’t asked about my barely there Irish accent or my maiden name. Either he’d recognized the ten-year-old girl in me and had come up with his own explanation that didn’t require him to murder me just yet, or he just didn’t give a damn who he was marrying so long as I had a uterus and was related to Aiden Brennan.
But surely, my desire to visit a very specific church would sound some sort of alarm if he were worthy of the title of boss.
Raphael’s eyes drifted over me as though he doubted his initial assessment of me and needed a do-over.
I’d thought my fear of a man’s roaming gaze had died with Tiernan, but I was wrong.
I imagined this was what most people felt when standing before the Grim Reaper. Uncertainty. Trepidation. Terror. One careless move and you’d cease to exist.
Like my father.
And my mother.
Anticipation corseted my body just as an unexpected grin captured Raphael’s face.
“Of course,” he finally replied. “But today is out of the question. I have meetings all day and won’t return until late evening. The chapel here on the grounds will make do for your prayers, and tomorrow, I’ll personally escort you to St. Patrick’s.”
Right now, a visit with Father O’Brien—or more accurately, a confessional—felt like the one thing that could keep me on the right side of sanity and from chugging the pitcher of mimosa in hand’s reach. Therefore, I pressed, “I can take an Uber.”
Raphael cringed in disgust. “You most certainly will not be riding in one of those disease-ridden death traps.”
If I weren’t stunned into silence, I would have laughed. For a badass mobster, he was a total bitch.
I was still considering an appropriate rebuttal when Lucifer’s voice made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“I will take her.”
Lucifer Flynn was a goddamn enigma.
Raphael’s gaze landed on the thumping pulse in my neck. He didn’t miss a fucking thing. “You have more important matters to attend to, brother,” he replied without taking his eyes off me.
I didn’t expect his measure of me to sting like it did.
“I’ll be free this evening,” Lucifer countered.
Raphael’s head whipped around to face Lucifer, who had one hand shoved in the front pocket of his jeans while he took a careful sip of coffee.
