Page 86 of A Beautiful Crime

“You sound surprised.”

I glance down at his hands. Hands capable of killing, hands that have killed, and then imagine those same hands preparing a meal. And I don’t know what it is, but imagining Constantine doing anything domestic seems out of place.

I voice my truth. “I can’t imagine you in the kitchen.”

A ghost of a smile appears on his face. Eyes light with amusement. He really is a beautiful man. It’s pathetic how easily he can awaken me. Desire simmers in my blood.

And I want to hate him. I want to hate him for awakening me, but how can I when it feels this good?

“Tell me,” he drops his voice, “what do you imagine me doing?”

With that voice? Only dark and sinful acts.

Instead, I say, “Nothing domestic.”

He chuckles and it warms that damn organ inside my chest I thought to be dead. “I may be The Devil of The East Coast,” he says his infamous title with little care, as if it means nothing to him, “but I am still a man.”

“A man who can have people at his service for his every whim,” I counter. I know men of lesser stature who do such. Counting my own papa. You wouldn’t dare catch him preparing a meal, let alone fetching his own drink. Giuseppe serves him day and night with his countless other staff.

I let my mind for the briefest of moments wonder how Giuseppe is handling my absence.

He and Gino were the only ones who had shown affection towards me. The only ones who cared.

“I can,” he agrees easily. “But I value my privacy. And despite what you may think, Carina, I’m not a shallow man. Callous, to the people who I need to be to, but never shallow.”

There he goes again, evoking the questions of one’s morality. Of one’s goodness. Of how one can possess light when they are known for darkness.

And if he can, can I?

“Are you trying to convince me you’re a good man?”

He laughs and the sound, much to my dismay and utter disbelief, warms my chest. “No. I’m not a saint, Carina. Never claimed myself to be.”

“No,” I agree with him, then point out, “You claim yourself to be The Devil.”

“Tell me, what knowledge do you have of your Catholic religion?”

Despite the delicious food before me I’ve suddenly no appetite. I counter, “Aren’t talks of religion inappropriate?”

He counters back with a brow arched and a smirk from the Devil himself, “Have I ever been concerned with what’s appropriate?” His eyes stay steady on mine, studying me. I feel as if I’m a caught butterfly and he’s about to pull my wings apart. “Tell me,” he demands softly.

I swallow as memories of my late mamma come to the surface. She was the only one in our family who took the Catholic religion seriously. She worshipped her God, and in turn he never saved her from the evil she fell in love with.

“Why am I being tested on a religion I hardly practice?”

His lips twitch. “Because I’m curious to know if you truly believe The Devil, Lucifer Morningstar, is evil, or if the church corrupted your mind into believing so.”

Only the Devil would suggest such a thing.

“Are you trying to convince me The Devil as we know it, as we all know it, isn’t evil?”

“I’m not trying to convince you of anything, Carina. Free will. It’s what Lucifer believed in. It’s what got him banished from Heaven. Free will. What all humans have.”

“Lucifer had started a war against God,” I challenge.

“Because he was executing his free will. And because of it, because God was challenged, Lucifer was banished.”

I remain silent. I remain silent and Constantine’s eyes glow with victory.

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