that the sun has disappeared, making me huddle into my anorak and wish for the fur coat I saw that woman wearing earlier.
I watch as Savio begins to wind through the streets with as much ease as he had the tables, but when he shoves Paulo down an alley, my brows soar.
As does my pulse.
That had to hurt.
Unless Paulo lives on the streets, which I doubt, because his clothes are too nice and he’d been able to afford to eat in that restaurant—and nothing is cheap here in the city—then Savio had just tossed him down that alley like he’s trash.
Which he is, sure, but still...
I hurry along, cringing at the sound of my boots tapping against the cobbles, before I look around the corner. Paulo’s too drunk to even realize what’s happening, but in the morning, he’ll feel it. Every moment of it.
His head is in for a world of pain after all that cheap wine he drank at the bar.
A part of me wonders if Savio’s intent is to beat the shit out of him, but when he grabs Paulo and drags him so his back is to the wall without kicking him?
I’ll admit to being disappointed.
And a little more confused.
What on Earth is happening here?
In the inky shadows, I struggle to see, and I squint a bit until I hear the sound of a switchblade.
Taken aback, I surge forward, uncertain and needing to know more.
The closer I move, the more I see. Paulo is slouched over, butt to the ground, legs splayed before him, his eyes closed, head bobbing like it doesn’t belong to his neck.
But Savio, crouching over him, has his sleeves pulled high with leather gloves on his fingers where they’d been bare before. He’s shoved Paulo’s cuffs high up on his forearm too, and his knife?
Aimed at the soft flesh of Paulo’s wrist.
I watch as he goes to push the knife into the man’s arm, and I freeze.
I know this is a ‘flight or fight’ moment. A true ‘kill or be killed’ decision. Except, this isn’t my life on the line.
But Paolo’s.
He just confessed to hurting his niece.
He said she tempted him.
Temptation doesn’t go away.
You have to move temptation out of your life.
Even as I see Savio’s reasoning, something in me feels edgy. Like this is wrong. The violence that brewed inside me coagulates to a point where I have no choice but to grab his shoulder.
And I do it in the nick of time.
He flinches, his head twisting around to stare up at me. When our gazes connect, my heart begins to pound, and just like at the church, it feels like a wildfire soars between us, but he freezes it with ice.
“Stop,” I rasp.
He jerks at my words then leaps to his feet. The knife’s pushed into his pocket as he begins to walk backward, running from me.
From me.
Not to me, like he should.
I frown at the sight, because doesn’t he know I’m not his enemy?
I’m here to help him.
Paulo moans, making me jolt in surprise. When he surges forward, suddenly wide awake, I rear back, then he pukes between his legs, and I know I can relax. Though I grimace at the sight, I walk away, cautious with each step I take, not wanting to alert him to my presence. Sure, he’s as drunk as a skunk, but I don’t want him to think he got here by any foul means.
Though his retches make me gag, I force myself to focus on Savio. I’d love to run after him, but I don’t. Not only because I physically can’t, but also because he’s fast.
By the time I make it out of the alley and onto the main street just beyond, I can’t even see him anymore. He’s blurred in with the rest of humanity.
But he can’t run from me.
Not forever.
I won’t let him.
Savio
My heart’s pounding, and it has nothing to do with how fast I’m running. People look at me in surprise, aghast at a priest doing something so vulgar in public, but I ignore them and their scolding looks.
Every day, I run through these streets, but I don’t wear a dog collar, and I slip under the radar.
Now, I stand out, even as I try to bypass the crowds. Sweat slicks my palms, coating my temples as I dart through the masses of people returning home for the evening and toward my church.
Vespers calls me, but how can I just carry on as though nothing happened?
She saw me.
She saw what I