Page 232 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“The church ships supplies through a discreet entrance on Echo Street. I would use it to slip into the cargo hold of an outbound plane.”
It’s a long shot, but a better chance of escape than I had ten seconds ago.
“Thank you.” Not bothering to wait for my penance, I stand and gather the little belongings I own. A passport and wallet with a faded picture of me and my sister.
Father Luciano meets me outside the confessional, his eyes not distracted by my pretty packaging for once. “You cannot leave this town, my child.”
“You just showed me how, Father.” My lips curve into a smile. “You showed me, step by step, and I never would have known about the church’s access to the airport had you not shown me the way.” I toy with the top edges of my shirt until a flash of cleavage blinds him. Then, I fix his collar until he sucks in a breath at the touch of my fingers against his pulse. “A way only you and your brethren know of.”
When I leave the church, it’s to the sound of silence. I hop into my dinky car and take off with the feel of my Devil patting me on the back.
Well done, my Devil praises.
Self-preservation, I protest.
And because bad requires the balance of good, I stop for the man waving on the side of the road. His tire is flat, its bottom the shape of a pancake. I recognize him as I step out of the car Angelo bought me and our eyes connect.
I may fear Angelo De Luca, but I know this man deserves my fear more. Except I don’t feel fear.
“Miss Ricci,” he drawls in that Yankee accent, not offering his name. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard wonderful things.”
I pat my belly on instinct. The movement betrays too much. His eyes dip down. He knows. He knows who I am. And judging by the cock of his brow, he now knows of my baby girl also.
“What a wonderful surprise.” He stretches a hand out. “Please, accept my congratulations.”
I stare at his hand before I take it. “Thank you.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
“Says the man stranded on the side of the road.”
“True.” He shrugs as if every car that passed hadn’t ignored him. They knew who he is. Just my luck.
Not luck but Fate, my Devil suggests as if she understands the word.
“I have a spare in my trunk.”
He sends me a grateful smile that has my back relaxing. I can’t pin point what this is. It’s not lust. Nothing I’m used to encountering. It’s human decency. Perhaps even familiarity. When the tire has been replaced, he shuts my truck and nods his head to the song on the stereo. It’s an old one, where the Bhundu Boys sing about crazy things like Fate and Destiny.
He confirms my suspicions that he knows who I am when he says, “Dalia.” His lips wrap around my name like a present, as if something pleasant hides within. “The goddess of Fate. Do you believe in Fate?”
I don’t, but I answer, “Yes,” because the way he asks makes me feel like he does.
He nods his head and considers something for a moment before his eyes cut through pretenses and narrow on my belly. “Would you like my help?”
I’d like help, yes, but I’m not sure from him. He and Angelo can be two sides of the same coin, but at least there’s kindness in his eyes, and I’m not in the position to pick and choose which Devil to run from.
Mine or theirs.
“Why?” I finally ask.
“Fate,” he answers, as if it exists.
Chapter One
BASTIANO ROMANO
The Present
