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“Why do you need to speak to me?” I asked, reminding myself of who I was, who Willa was, and who we were to each other: in-laws—pending.
Her chin lifted as the more guarded Willa Brennan who needed to be handled with kid gloves hijacked the witty Willa Callahan who’d been waiting for me to get home.
“I wanted to thank you for the list of churches.” She played with a lock of her hair with one hand while using the other to tuck some errant strands behind her ear. “That was very ... non-devilish of you. So, thanks for that.”
I gave her a tight nod.
But there was more. Emotion took over her features, telling me that whatever came out next wouldn’t be easy for her to say. “I’m so sorry, Lucifer.” Her bottom lip trembled as tears spilled onto her cheeks. “I’m so sorry for what I said to you. You didn’t deserve that. Please forgive me.” She shook her head as though reprimanding her body’s reaction to the guilt she was experiencing.
I should have stopped her and told her there was nothing to forgive, but I couldn’t speak. Her open brokenness reflected what I’d managed to close off inside myself. If I engaged in any way, I’d risk it all. What kind of enforcer would I be with feelings and emotions?
“It—it’s okay if you can’t forgive me ... but ... can I ... h-hug you?”
Hug?
How long had it been since I’d hugged someone or someone had hugged me? Masculine slaps on the shoulder were signs of solidarity, but a hug?
I swallowed hard.
Too long.
And I’d taken too long to answer Willa.
She mopped her tears with shaking fingers as she turned away from me.
The words forgive and understand crashed together in my ears, but I was too lost in the white noise of my reflections for them to make sense.
Willa passed the Virgin Mary statue in quick strides. I stared after her, and in my mind, formulated the sentences I wanted to say to her. She paused and looked back over her shoulder. “Do you know where Zoto is located?”
“Zoto?” I had no fucking clue who or what the fuck Zoto was.
She shrugged, swiping at another straggler tear. “Raphael’s taken a couple calls from him lately, so I just assumed that’s who he was meeting up with. He didn’t tell me where he was going when he left, but he was talking to Zoto. I was just wondering if you knew.”
I swallowed the bitter taste of more unexpected and disturbing news that had suddenly made everything else I was dealing with seem irrelevant. Even as that sentiment took shape, I knew it was false.
“He’s in New York. He’ll be back on—”
Movement above Willa caught both of our attentions, and our heads swiveled in unison.
Cillian was descending the stairs, heading directly toward her with each step. His body language was uncoordinated and intimidating. He was either drunk, high, or—more accurately—both.
I recognized the look in his beady fucking eyes.
Willa slunk back against the railing to escape his advance, but she tripped over the loose-fitting pajama pants that bunched at her feet.
She slipped. Then cursed in Gaelic as she crashed to the landing right in front of the Virgin Mary statue.
For a moment, my feet were stuck. I couldn’t think over the roar of blood rushing in my ears.
The side of Cillian’s boot grazed Willa’s face as she tucked herself closer to the wall, shielding her head with her forearms.
I decided I was going to kill him.
I would tear the skin from his body and enjoy watching him bleed out.
I lunged at him, driving him backward into the stairs. He barely resisted, his body breaking our fall. In his state, he was even less of an opponent than he would have been sober. A pained groan rumbled out of him as I peeled him up by his shirt and tossed him headfirst onto the landing right next to Willa. I stalked toward him. It took only one hard kick and he rolled until he lay spread-eagle.
He held a hand up—the universal sign for stop.
