The whisper carried such raw anguish that it made my chest ache. The shoes stumbled backward, then rushed forward. I heard the soft thud of knees hitting marble, the rustle of fabric.
"No, no, no. Padre, please."
I risked lifting my head above the desk's edge because I'm an idiot who can't resist a mystery. A young priest knelt beside Azevedo's chair, hands hovering over the cardinal's body like he wanted to help but didn't know how. Dark hair fell across his face as he leaned forward, and when he looked up to check for signs of life.
Beautiful. That was the only word for him. Certainly too good-looking to be a priest. God really said, "Let there be light," and used all of it on this one man. What a waste of good genetics on celibacy.
Something about his profile nagged at me. Familiar, though I couldn't place what.
The priest's hand moved to Azevedo's face, closing the cardinal's eyes gently. "I'm sorry," he whispered, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry I was late."
The grief in his voice was real. Raw. The kind that came from actual love, or at least something close enough to fool a professional liar like me. Then his spine straightened, and the grief disappeared behind a mask of professional calm so smooth it was almost beautiful to watch.
The man had impressive self-control.
The priest pulled out his phone, but his eyes never stopped scanning the room. This wasn't a soft parish priest who spent his days hearing confessions and blessing rosaries. He was dangerous. Maybe in the same way I was.
This was about to get interesting.
His gaze caught on something, and my stomach dropped. There was a drop of blood on the marble right by my hiding place.
"Security?" he said into the phone. "Cardinal Azevedo has been murdered. His study. Send everyone." He hung up and spoke to the apparently empty room, and I swear to God there was the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I know you're still in here."
Fuck.
I stood slowly, hands up. "You got me."
His jaw clenched. “Come out from behind the desk.”
The command made my dick twitch.Not the time, Lorenzo. Absolutely not the fucking time.
I stayed where I was, with the desk between us. “Just so you know, he had it coming.”
He gritted his teeth and launched forward with a punch aimed right at my nose, followed by a left hook that would have shattered ribs if it had landed.
I swayed back, letting the punches cut air inches from my face, then dropped into a low sweep. My leg caught his ankle, but he rolled with it, stumbling but staying upright.
"You're not leaving here alive," he said, resetting his stance.
"Watch me."
I flowed into a spinning kick aimed at his head. He ducked under it like he'd known it was coming and lunged forward, trying to tackle me into the heavy wooden desk. I twisted away, but his shoulder caught my hip, and we both went crashing into Azevedo's chair.
The impact rattled my teeth. The priest rolled with it and came up swinging, a vicious uppercut that I barely slipped. It grazed my jaw hard enough to sting. His follow-up cross caught my cheek, and pain bloomed on one side of my face.
Christ, that was close. And absolutely exhilarating in ways I'd examine later when I wasn't fighting for my freedom.
The man hit like a truck with anger issues and a point to prove.
I grabbed the chair's armrest and swung it between us, forcing him back, then vaulted over it with a cartwheel that turned into a heel kick. My foot connected with his shoulder, and the impact shot up my leg. He spun into the bookshelf, and I waited for him to go down.
He didn't even grunt, just absorbed the impact like it was nothing and kept moving. Books cascaded down as the priest grabbed a heavy leather tome and hurled it at my head. I ducked, and the book shattered a picture frame behind me. He was already moving, using the distraction to close the distance.
Clever bastard. I was starting to like him, which was a problem for about seventeen different reasons.
We crashed together near the desk. The priest tried to pin my arms, but I twisted free. I drove my elbow toward his temple. He blockedwith his forearm and countered with a short hook to my kidney that sent fire shooting up my spine.
Fuck, thathurt. When was the last time someone had hurt me in a fight? Not just landed a hit, but actually made me feel it?
