Whatever brought her into this church…whatever she’s protecting...whatever ghost she’s chasing…
…it’s already tied to mine.And its shadow is getting closer.
The Shadow in the Hallway
Pia walks ahead of me, her steps quick, her shoulders tense, like the hallway itself has teeth. The old rectory is darker at night—narrower somehow. Every shadow feels alive, breathing, watching. Part of me tells myself I’m imagining it. The other part—the one Giovanni carved out of bone and instinct—knows better.
I slow my steps, letting my senses sharpen. The storm pressing against the stained glass murmurs like a warning, the candlelight flickering in uneasy patterns. My breathing adjusts, falling into the quiet, measured rhythm my father drilled into us. The predator’s breath. The hunter’s calm.
I take one step after her.
Then I see it.
A shape detaches from the far end of the corridor.
Tall.Broad.Wrong.
Not Dante—too big.Not Romeo—too quiet.Not a parishioner—parishioners don’t move like that.
This one moves like a ghost trained to kill.
My whole body locks. A violent, instinctive stillness. My lungs freeze mid-breath.
“Pia—” I try to warn her, but the word catches, swallowed by the silence.
The figure shifts—one fluid step backward—then dissolves into the darkness like the shadows open a mouth and swallow him whole. Every muscle in my body draws tight, coiling, ready to strike or shield or both.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
Someone is in my church.
Not a Rivas.Not a volunteer.Not a fucking friend.
A hunter.
And they’re here for her.
Pia finally hears my footsteps—too fast, too sharp—and turns. Her eyes widen when she sees the look on my face.
“What is it?” she breathes.
I don’t answer.
Instinct takes over. I reach for her arm, gripping her firmly—no room for softness—pulling her behind me as my body moves automatically into the position Giovanni drilled into us when we were barely old enough to hold guns.
Protect.Shield.Kill if necessary.
My voice comes out low and lethal, the priest long gone, the heir standing in his place.
“You are not safe here.”
She blinks, confusion flickering into fear. Genuine fear. The kind she can’t mask even with all her practiced lies.
“What do you mean? Who—”
“There’s someone in this hallway,” I growl. “Someone is watching you.”
Her breath stutters. She looks over my shoulder, but the corridor is empty now—just candlelight flickering against stone and shadows clinging too close.
