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“Yes,” is all he says.

Nodding, I lick my lips. “Can I go to the church now, then?” I ask, hopeful.

“As long as you take Vinny,” he reminds me. “And text me if you go anywhere else.”

7

Kira

Vinny pulls around the back of Saint Benedict’s, navigating the narrow service alley that deliveries and employees use.

The brick wall rises on our left, stained dark where decades of rain have streaked the mortar, and I can smell the dumpster from the parish hall kitchen even before he cuts the engine.

“Wait here, Mrs. DeLuca.” That’s the first thing he’s said since we left the penthouse.

He exits first, surveying the alley with the same methodical attention he gave the parking garage. His head turns slowly, tracking from the dumpster to the fire escape to the narrow gap between buildings where someone could theoretically hide.

When he’s satisfied, he steps aside and lets me out, maintaining that careful space between us as I climb from the car. The alley feels smaller than I remember, which I blame on Vinny’s presence.

We reach the parish office entrance, a door painted institutional green with a brass handle worn smooth by years of hands, and I push it open without waiting for permission.

Vinny follows me inside, his presence filling the space behind me without overtaking it. I can feel him scanning—doors, corners, the staircase that leads to the choir loft, the open archway into the nave.

His professionalism is a wall I can’t ignore, and part of me wants to tell him that the most dangerous thing in this building is the coffee Father Joseph makes, which is strong enough to raise the dead.

I move automatically toward the reception desk, my body knowing this path before my mind catches up. The desk sits where it always has, cluttered with the same organized chaos. But instead of being empty, someone else sits there.

And that’s when it hits me for the first time: I don’t work here anymore.

The realization lands with physical force, a hollow in my chest that wasn’t there a moment ago. How could I have forgotten that I resigned a week before the wedding? Is that denial or forgetfulness?

“Kira?”

Father Joseph’s voice comes from his office doorway, and I turn to find him standing there in his clerical clothes. He smiles when he sees me, but it’s strained at the edges. I don’t blame him after what happened at the wedding.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, and the question isn’t unkind, just genuinely confused. “You resigned, didn’t you?”

I smile sheepishly. “I forgot,” I admit, and my voice comes out smaller than I want it to. “Well, I mean…” I look at Vinny, who has positioned himself near the wall with clear sightlines to both entrances, and I don’t know how to explain any of this in front of him. “… my husband said I could continue working here.”

The word husband tastes strange, foreign, a language I’m learning to speak without understanding the grammar.

Father Joseph’s expression shifts, something careful moving behind his eyes. “And do you want to?”

“I do,” I say firmly. “I want to return, even if I have to volunteer.”

Father Joseph watches me for a long moment, long enough that I feel Vinny’s attention shift slightly, tracking us both. “We can arrange that,” he says. “There’s always work to be done, Kira. You know that better than most.”

He steps closer, moving into the reception area with the comfortable familiarity of someone who has walked these floors thousands of times. I notice the lines around his eyes seem deeper than I remember, as though he’s been losing sleep over things he can’t discuss.

Or maybe it’s because Domenico pulled a gun on him. I hate how bad that makes me feel.

“About the wedding,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry about—”

Father Joseph holds up his hand. “It’s not up to you to apologize, Kira. You did nothing wrong.”

His eyes hold mine, and I know he’s seeing through the smile I’ve plastered on my face. He’s known me since Mom started working here. He’s watched me grow up and watched my family fracture. He knows what I look like when I’m avoiding the truth.

“Come to my office,” he says quietly. “There’s something I want to discuss with you.”