Maria’s brother ran for their mother, who was trying to fend off the heavy fists of the man. But just as Mark tried to reach for the attacker’s gun, the man fired, and Mark dropped to his knees. Maria screamed as her brother held his stomach and collapsed to the side. His hand reached out for her. Maria scrambled to where he lay and managed to hold his hand just as her brother’s eyes frosted over and he exhaled a stuttered final breath. Maria didn’t see the attacker kill her mother, but she heard the single gunshot.
Maria was rolled onto her back and, in her state of numbness and shock, was bound and gagged and shoved into a car . . .
Raphael reached for Maria, ripping her from the darkness of the past. She flinched as he cradled her in his arms. He looked down at her. “I won’t hurt you, little rose.”
Maria didn’t know what to think as the softly spoken loving words fell from his lips. She had never been on the receiving end of an endearment from a man before. Maria remembered the savage expression that had torn apart his face as he held her up by her throat in the private room of the club. Her nerves were frayed by the two very different sides of this man. Lord, give me strength to endure this test, whatever it may be.
Raphael took her into a large ornate room. It was bigger than most apartments she had seen. Perhaps some houses. The bright winter sun peeked in through the floor-to-ceiling period windows that peppered the far wall. Raphael, with the gentleness of a saint, brought her to a padded red velvet chair. He placed her on the seat and sat on the end of the bed. He pulled her closer and smiled.
“I want to untie you, talk to you. But you can’t scream.” He nodded, trying to make his point. “Do you understand? I need you to be silent.” Raphael’s attention fell to Maria’s neck. His nose flared and he gritted his teeth, as if he were angry. Reaching out, he ran his finger over her skin. She flinched when it hurt. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said as he pulled away. “Your neck is too perfect to mark.” He shook his head and ran his hands over his beautiful face. “You were there and you were perfect and . . . you were lying.” Agony morphed his beautiful face again, only for her to see him fight it—deep breaths and clenched jaw—and adopt a visage full of guilt. Maria didn’t know if this was a ruse or whether he seriously regretted hurting her. A flicker of hope burst in her chest. He felt guilt. Guilt and shame. Maybe he wasn’t so far gone that Maria couldn’t be of help.
“You were holding that rosary.” His eyes lost some of their kindness, taking Maria from her thoughts. His mood changes were a turbulent twister, shifting an unpredictable path in a second, giving one no time to prepare for the destruction. “How are you connected to them?” Fathers Quinn and Murray. He must have been talking about Fathers Quinn and Murray. They had told her this killer knew them. She didn’t know how or why; she hadn’t asked. Maria had no idea how Raphael killed, his preferences or his motives. She had entered into this church-ordered task blindly. As a novitiate it hadn’t been her business to question anything. Nuns never doubted a priest. “You’re a woman. How did they get you on their side?”
Raphael didn’t know she was about to become a nun, pledge herself to the church. He saw a woman, not a bride of Christ. Father Quinn was her superior; it was her duty to obey him. And she trusted him. She wouldn’t tell Raphael anything of the priests who were only trying to do God’s work.
Raphael came further forward. Maria could see the outline of tattoos under his white shirt. The material was thin and betrayed the many artful black lines. She couldn’t make out what the design was. He placed his hands on the arms of the chair. She smelled his scent—fresh water and salt. It shouldn’t have been attractive to her. It was. She shouldn’t have found him attractive, period, but she did. Humans were imperfect, and often did and felt things that they shouldn’t. But this man was evil wrapped up in a beautiful package. Every exquisite feature he boasted was a mask for the wretchedness that prowled underneath. Maria prayed there was a hint of good that remained hidden deep. She prayed that she could appeal to that good.
“I want to know your name. I want to help you. I don’t want to hurt you.” His golden eyes narrowed, half threat, half plea. “Don’t force me to hurt you. Things won’t go well for you if you do.” Maria’s stomach flipped at the casually spoken warning. Raphael reached for the tape over her mouth. “Do you promise not to make a sound?” Maria nodded, knowing she had no other choice. She knew how quickly he could turn and didn’t want to risk it. She needed to keep this amiable Raphael on side. She didn’t want to meet the evil Raphael again—that moral-less man terrified her. Fear would keep her silent, if that was what he required, until she could work out a way to escape.