Except she is.She fucking is.
My pulse hasn’t slowed since the hallway.
My body still remembers the way she gasped when I touched her, the way I wanted to taste that sound.
And the worst part?
She knows.
She feels it in the room.
She stands still.
She watches me, calm and observant. It's like she expects me to break down.
I pace.
Slow, precise steps across the sacristy floor, circling her like a man looking for stable ground in an earthquake.
Like movement might shake her out of my system.
It doesn’t.
The air still crackles around us, charged and forbidden.
“You shouldn’t have come in here,” I say, voice low, still rough from everything I haven’t admitted.
She lifts one shoulder—small, almost careless. “You didn’t lock the door.”
"It's sacristy," I snap. "I don't want people to barge in."
Her eyes flick to mine. “You expected me to?”
I stop pacing.
My jaw clamps so tight I taste metal. “No,” I lie.
Her lips curl—small, sharp, knowing. “You’re terrible at lying.”
Jesus Christ.This woman.
A muscle jumps in my cheek—rage, restraint, desire, all tangled beneath my ribs.
She is dragging a version of me to the surface I swore would never see daylight again.
The heir I buried. The enforcer Giovanni forged before I ran to God for refuge.
I left that man behind.
But Pia?Pia pulls him forward without even touching me.
“What do you want from me?” I snap, more raw than intended.
She doesn’t flinch. “Why do you think I want anything?”
“Because people like you always want something.”
“People like me,” she echoes, voice soft but threaded with challenge.
