Page 22 of Thief of my Heart

Yeah, that sounded like the best idea in the world.

Unfortunately, all I could offer was the dinner she made.

Well, at least we could share.

“I’m sorry,” she said for the third time as she turned.

I was getting really tired of hearing her say that.

I tipped her chin up, forcing her to focus those emerald beauties up at me. “It’s fine. Besides, you’re right.”

That adorable, eleven-shaped divot appeared between her brows. “Right about what?”

I shrugged. “I am a no-good piece of shit.”

“I never said?—”

“You meant it,” I said. “And it’s true. That’s why I landed at Rikers. Things like that don’t happen to good people. People like your brother. People like you.”

She chewed on that for a second. I hated that she even had to think it over.

I returned to the table, satisfied when she moved back to the kitchenette, made herself a small bowl of pasta, and took the other folding chair at the table.

“Well, that’s some bullshit,” Lea said stoutly as she twisted some spaghetti with her fork.

I swallowed a mouthful of my own and looked up. “Say what?”

She straightened up as far as she could. She wasn’t a big person—maybe five foot four and change—but somehow, she managed to occupy a lot of space when she wanted to. She practically demanded attention before she even spoke.

“I said,” she repeated, as she tucked a lock of hair behind one ear, “that’s bullshit.”

She took a large bite, as if repeating the statement a third time.

“What’s bullshit?”

“The idea that people are bad or good. That what happened to you is all you are, and that’s all you’ll ever be. It’s bullshit.” She took another bite, chewed and swallowed, then continued. “‘Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone’ and all that.”

I smirked. “Easy to say when you’re Jesus.”

She smiled. It lit up her whole face—of course, all a sinner like me had to do was mention Jesus to make her smile. Fuck, I was all wrong for her.

“I knew you knew your Bible,” she said, going back to her food. “Good people don’t forget the Good Book, Michael.”

I chuckled as I continued eating. “That’s not morals; it’s five years of catechism, Tess. And I got kicked out before confirmation.”

Her brow furrowed adorably. “Tess?”

I grinned. “Tess for contessa. Or would you prefer Your Majesty?”

For that, I received an eye roll. Then she looked thoughtful. “Then why did Father Deflorio want to help you? He wouldn’t go out of his way for a lost cause.”

I shrugged. “I’m the stain on his spotless record. It drives him nuts that I’m the only kid he ever had to kick out of catechism classes for bad behavior. Makes him a hypocrite.”

“But clearly, you know your Scripture,” she replied, pointing at me with a bit of noodle on her fork.

“Everyone knows the Book of John.”

“Not enough to cite it.”

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