Page 57 of The Sinner and the Priest: Part Two

“Forgive me,” I growl, swinging my gaze back to the family and finishing buttoning my clerical shirt. “I forgot the time. Suor Mercy and I are halfway through an urgent novena we started earlier.” I haul her to her feet. “We have a few to go.”

“Such a good boy.” Aunt Rosa smiles fondly at me. “You do that, Franceso. Nine minutes? We’ll clear the dishes and bring out dessert.”

Murmurs of agreement ripple across the table. Even my father nods solemnly, glancing at Elena, who is staring off into space. “I think we all need a break.”

“He is a good boy,” Elena adds. “Praying for our protection.”

The praise grates on my nerves. She hasn’t spoken to me like this since before the drowning.

I need to get out of here.

“Use the VIP dining room downstairs,” Aunt Rosa says, smiling as she collects our plates. “You will not be interrupted.”

I don’t wait for another word. I’m already two steps to the door when my nonna grabs my arm and clucks, “Take the tomato timer from the kitchen. I use it for my novenas.”

It is hard to look appreciative at my nonna with my heart pounding, and my cock growing harder by the second. But I manage a curt nod, and then walk out, knowing Mercy is hot on my heels.

I don’t stop until I’m downstairs in the main kitchen, collecting the red tomato timer in one fell swoop. I have a moment to register the emptiness down here and feel pleased, then I’m barreling into the private dining room and stepping aside for Mercy to enter. And then I close the door behind us.

Twenty

Mercy

Oh, Cisco.

He is the picture of unhinged and unraveled as he slams the door shut and presses his palms against it, head bowed. It’s dark in here, but he won’t turn on the lights. If he did, everyone in the piazza would see us. It’s still bustling with activity despite the pitter-pattering of rain. The jazz musician must have moved undercover, because he sounds farther away.

I lean back against the boardroom table and fold my arms, refusing to feel guilty.

I don’t ‘fuck’ you. I devour you.

Cisco’s words in the ruins below the Vatican were the beginning of my current state of horniness. The rest came after I confessed my darkest shame, and he never blinked. He just looked like he wanted to tear the world apart for me. Then the bastard had the nerve to put me in a separate room, as if what’s happening between us can still be denied.

I tried to take the edge off in the shower. Imagine my dismay when my body betrayed me. Orgasm denied.

That’s when the horrifying notion struck me: I think this is what it means to go monogamous. One dick forever. One dick I’ve not even had inside me yet. The shock. The audacity. The cautious thrill. The fear . . .

What if he can’t keep up with me?

What if he thinks I’m too much, and rather than hurt my feelings, he just . . . drifts away?

There’s no way I’m going to force Cisco into a life with me as my mother did with my father. If we’re to be a couple—forever—it’s only fair that Cisco knows what he’s getting into.

So if you think about it, I’m doing him a favor.

“A Novena? Really?” I tease, switching back to English. I run my hands down my curves, smoothing the creases in the blue silk. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

He rounds on me, eyes dark and simmering. The intensity gives me pause. Did I push too far?

“Nine minutes,” he grinds out.

“What?” I blink.

“You know how a Novena works. Nine minutes is how long you have to pray the first devotion.”

“Technically, we’re halfway through our fake Novena.”

He calmly rolls the sleeves of his clerical shirt to his forearms, exposing the dark threads of his tattoos. The move is less unhinged and more calculated. More crime and punishment.