“Stay away from him,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “If you see him again, call me immediately.”
After we hang up, I sit in my office staring at the wall, my rosary beads cutting into my palm.
Twenty years.
I’ve spent twenty years building a life that matters, becoming someone worthy of redemption. And now my past is circling like a vulture, threatening to destroy everything.
Threatening to destroyher.
The thought of Tommy anywhere near Charlie makes violence surge through my chest, hot and immediate.
I imagine his scarred hands touching her, his predatory smile aimed at her instead of me. My fists clench involuntarily, and I have to force myself to breathe, to pray, to remember I’m not that man anymore.
Except maybe I am. Maybe violence doesn’t leave. Maybe it just waits.
Evening Mass passes in a blur of familiar prayers and desperate pleas to a God who feels increasingly distant.
When it’s over, I retreat to my office, needing the solitude to think, to plan, to figure out how to protect Charlie from a threat she doesn’t even understand.
The knock on my door is sharp, urgent. Marcus enters without waiting for permission, his dark eyes burning with barely contained fury.
“We have a problem,” he says, his accent thickening the way it does when he’s fighting for control. “There was a man in the parking lot. Said he was an old friend of yours. Tommy Delgado.”
My blood turns to ice. “What did he say?”
“That he’s impressed by your transformation. Underground fighter to priest.” Marcus’s jaw clenches. “He was fishing, Adrian. Trying to figure out what matters to you now. Who matters to you.”
My fist slams into my desk with enough force to split the wood, just a few inches to the right of where I split the wood last time, the sound echoing through the small office like a gunshot.
Pain radiates up my arm, but it’s nothing compared to the rage burning through my chest.
Marcus doesn’t flinch. He just watches me with those knowing eyes, seeing straight through to the monster I’ve been trying to bury.
“He offered me fifty thousand dollars,” I admit, my voice rough. “One fight. Underground tournament. Three rounds.”
“Are you considering it?” Marcus’s question is careful, measured, but I hear the concern underneath.
I stare at my split knuckles, at the blood welling up from torn skin. “The church needs money. Charlie’s grandmother needs continued care. Fifty thousand would solve so many problems.”
“It would also destroy everything you’ve built.” Marcus moves closer, his body radiating protective fury. “You go back to that world, even once, and you become that man again. Is that who you want Charlie to see?”
The question hits like a punch to the gut. I think about Charlie’s hazel eyes, the way they shift between green and gold depending on her mood.
The way she looks at me like I’m something worth keeping, like my past doesn’t define my present. Would she still look at me that way if she saw me covered in blood, fists raised, and violence unleashed?
“I don’t know what else to do,” I admit, and the confession costs me everything.
Footsteps echo in the hallway. Elijah appears in the doorway, his blue eyes immediately cataloging the split desk, my bleeding knuckles, the tension crackling between Marcus and me. Behind him, Charlie hovers, her face pale with concern.
She sees my hands and moves toward me instinctively. Every muscle in my body screams to reach for her, to pull her close and bury my face in her neck until Tommy’s threats fade to nothing.
But I force myself to step back, to maintain the distance that’s supposed to keep us both safe.
Her eyes find mine, and I see the hurt flash across her face before she hides it. The careful distance we’ve been maintaining is destroying her slowly, and I’m the one wielding the knife.
“What happened?” Her voice is soft, but there’s steel underneath. She’s not asking about my hands.
She’s asking about everything, all the secrets I’m keeping, all the threats closing in around us.
