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He studied me for a reaction, and when I didn’t give him one, his expression darkened. He slowly twisted a few strands of my hair along his finger while he held my eyes. My heart rate spiked as dampness gathered under my arms.
“Dantès may have been cutthroat in his revenge—an impressive quality—but it was Mondego who had the conviction to take what he wanted in the first place.” His voice was a low growl that chomped at my insides as he fed off my fear. He relished every morsel I offered him. Only after he’d picked my bones clean would he be sated. “Mondego’s only mistake was framing Dantès rather than just killing the fucker.” His gaze drifted to the book. “A mistake, I am certain in hindsight, he deeply regretted.”
He released my ponytail abruptly, standing to his full height and straightening his disheveled suit coat. “I’m going to shower and then I need to go out of town for several days.”
I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve such a gift, but I thanked God and all his angels anyway.
Raphael continued to watch me closely. After a brief hesitation, he leaned forward and delivered a hard kiss to the top of my head. “Behave yourself while I’m gone. Grifin is here—he’ll watch over you in the house and take you anywhere you want to go that’s within reason. Stay out of Cillian’s way. I’d rather not send him back to Ireland in pieces if I can avoid it. Wouldn’t want to piss off my new in-laws so soon. I’ll see to it that he has enough coke and pussy to keep himself entertained.” He righted himself and gripped my chin a little too tightly. “Lucifer doesn’t have time to babysit, so don’t fuck with him.” He scanned my face. Whatever he found there made him squeeze hard enough that I shot a few daggers that I wished weren’t figurative. “Don’t be difficult, Willa. In fact, my brother is off-limits to you—you’re only a distraction. Lucifer may be family, but his job comes first. Understood?”
“Aye,” I replied.
A pleased grin spread across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but before the words made their way out, we were interrupted.
“I’m sorry to bother ye, Raphael, but I have somethin’ for Ms. Brennan.”
I blinked and pivoted my gaze to Sosanna.
Raphael released his hold. “What is it?” he snapped.
Sosanna gave him a look. Her silent reprimand was enough to make him soften.
“I apologize, Sosanna, I’m late for a meeting and in desperate need of a shower. What do you have for my fiancée?”
Pleased with Raphael’s newfound manners, Sosanna placed a folded piece of paper in Raphael’s impatient hand. “Zadkiel asked me to give her this ... he drew up a list of local churches and their Mass schedule.”
It was the first time I’d heard Lucifer’s Christian name spoken out loud.
Emotion clogged my throat. I ignored Raphael’s stare, which had enough power behind it to burn a hole right through me.
“When did he give this to you?” I asked, my tone quiet.
Sosanna’s eyes darted between Raphael and me. “This mornin’, lass. Before he left for the day.”
Maybe somewhere in this universe there existed a dimension where Lucifer didn’t hate me.
I raised my head to catch Raphael’s skewering gaze. I could see the wheels of mistrust turning in his suspicious mind. He continued to size me up while speaking to the housekeeper, “Thank you, Sosanna. That’ll be all.”
With Sosanna out of sight, Raphael stalked to the fireplace. Taking the Zippo lighter from his pocket, he proceeded to set the paper aflame before tossing it onto the logs. But it didn’t matter—it wasn’t the list that had gifted me a glimmer of hope, it was the man and his intent behind it.
“St. Patrick’s is perfectly safe,” Raphael remarked, turning his back to the fireplace to face me. “Lucifer doesn’t need to fucking coddle you.”
Raphael had no idea his words held one meaning for him and another for me. Lucifer had remembered my request the night of the shootout—a request that had nothing to do with the Russians and everything to do with Raphael’s connection to St. Patrick’s and Father O’Brien.
Raphael took careful steps toward me, rubbing his chin as though in thought. “I’m positive Father O’Brien would love to see you, Willa. Perhaps while you’re visiting with the father, you could discuss the ceremonial details.” His grin widened. “Speaking of our upcoming nuptials—it’s time for you to meet Hannah. She’ll be coordinating everything for the engagement party and wedding ceremony. Grifin will bring you to her.”
Hannah, the woman Lucifer “t’wasn’t bangin’” the other night.
Raphael never missed an opportunity to dig the proverbial knife a little deeper.
His phone buzzed. “I must be off. I’ll see you next week, darling,” he shot my way before turning to leave. He answered, “Zoto,” and then he was gone.
Every minute I spent with Raphael Flynn felt like a hard-core lesson in mental gymnastics. Those moments left me second-guessing my purpose in returning to Boston and teetering on the edge of sending myself straight to the bottom of the Charles. But then I’d remember that I’d somehow found a way to survive a decade with a cruel and toxic tyrant like Tiernan—and where was he now?
Deep down, I knew I’d find whatever it took to survive Raphael too.
I retrieved The Count of Monte Cristo from where Raphael had tossed it earlier and ran my fingertips over the embossed title. For years I’d compulsively searched every sentence for guidance ... for hope.
A smile found my lips as I recalled my favorite line: “How did I escape? With difficulty. How did I plan this moment? With pleasure.”
