Page 2 of Mafia Priest

His cough is worse today. I begged him to stay home, but he loves this cathedral. He boasts about it—the energy-efficient design, the artistry of the stained glass. He pretends to be so pious.

Everyone thinks I’m pious, too. They whisper about my “tragic past,” speculating that it’s made me too devout to date. Piety isn’t why I don’t date, but it’s safer to let them think that. Even Nonno doesn’t know my real reasons…

Beside me, he’s slumped over. I should wake him, but I don’t have the heart. On his other side, Robby scans the sanctuary for threats. At the far end of the pew, Frankie and Elise have their heads bent over something on his phone. It’s not my bodyguard’s job to keep my sister amused, but I’m grateful he’s willing. I’m too distracted to focus on her, not when I’m about to seehim.

Father Salvatore Costa.

For two years, I’ve confessed my sins to him. And I’ve done more than confess. I’ve confided in him, too—my hopes, my dreams, my fears. I’ve told him everything except the truth.

I haven’t dared. I’m so isolated that he’s my only real friend. He doesn’t know how I feel. But then I don’t even understand these feelings. I just know that it’s more than a crush.

“Coast is clear, boss,” Robby says, and Nonno startles awake.

I slip my rosary into my purse, not betraying my excitement.

Robby offers Nonno his hand, but my grandfather ignores it. Slowly, he rises until he’s standing unsteadily, one hand braced on the back of the pew.

I slide over and stand beside him. “Go ahead of us, Robby. Make sure the car is waiting.”

Glaring at Frankie, Robby snaps, “Stay with them,” then strides down the aisle.

I move to take Nonno’s arm, but he holds up a hand. “Stop with this nonsense. My lungs are bad, not my legs.”

Arguing would be a mistake, so I don’t. And I conceal my impatience over how long it takes us to make our way outside. But finally, we step out into the sunlight.

My heart pounds. Tall, dark, and handsome barely captures the intoxicating mix of beauty and violence that is Salvatore Costa. He has the kind of rugged facial features that would be ugly on a weaker man. And his body…

Oh my God, his body. It broadcasts safety and danger all at once. Safety and danger and seduction and sin.

He may be a priest, but he looks more like one of Nonno’s enforcers. The blue-black stubble along his jaw. The way his shirts strain over his muscles. The totality of him is gorgeous, intimidating, and nearly too much.

Nonno’s insistence on leaving last means that we’re at the end of the line. My sister fidgets. We’re both impatient, but for different reasons. She wants the book Nonno made her leave in the car, and I…

I want the priest.

Fortunately, at the sight of my grandfather, the line disappears, reforming behind us. Elise shakes Father Costa’s hand first, then races off to the car.

He greets Nonno next, kissing my grandfather’s ring. “Don Marco.”

“Excellent sermon, Padre, as always. You know how to talk to my men, unlike that fool before you.”

“I do my best.” He turns to me. “Bianca.”

One word shouldn’t set my body on fire. But the timbre of his voice is tinder, igniting flames of desire deep in my belly that radiate out until I’m afraid I’ll burn in this life not just the next.

“Father,” I reply, hoping neither man notices how my voice shakes.

Poised and proper, I offer him my hand. He’d be horrified if he knew how much that word—Father—turns me on. But it does, and that’s my most shameful secret. More shameful than the dampness between my legs when he takes my hand. The handshake lasts mere seconds, the contact too brief.

Keeping my voice light, I turn to my grandfather. “Nonno, may Father Costa join us for dinner?”

The question is a formality. Nonno always says yes.

“Not today,princessa.” He pats my shoulder, then continues as if I’m invisible. “Forgive me, Padre, but we have pressing family business. But next Sunday, join us for cavatelli. Or as they say in Abruzzo,orecchie di prete—priest’s ears!”

Nonno laughs at his own joke, then coughs. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. “Apologies, Padre, I seem to have caught a summer cold.”

Father Costa waits a beat, expression blank. “Of course, Don Marco,la famigliaalways comes first.”

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