The handsome man laughs. “A question for another time, bella.”

He’s Italian too. He sounds exactly like Zia.

Father Monastero grabs my chin, turning it to expose the side of my neck. There’s a huge needle in his hand. “Don’t worry,” he says. “This’ll only hurt a little.”

I scream and hands come down from everywhere, pinning my arms, my legs, my stomach. Father Monastero hovers above me, smiling his sneering Elvis smile. “Sweet dreams, Tesorina.”

Chapter Three

Doc Valente

January is balled up on Morelli’s dark red carpet, still unconscious from her sleeper injection. I lean against the banister of the main staircase, waiting for her to wake up. I’ve heard all brides are beautiful on their wedding day, but she’s a pretty little thing. She reminds me of a colt, all legs and lashes and long, dark mane. And those tits… Mama Whitehall did a good job hiding them away. My eyes almost fell out of my head when the brat walked down the aisle toward me.

A moan falls from her red lips. Even twitching on the carpet, she looks too pure to exist. Like she’s been kissed by angels. It makes a man want to violate her. Or at least it makes me want to do that.

On the other side of the room, her useless bodyguard is still out cold. He didn’t get a sleeper injection; Adriano just kicked him in the head. I would have slit his throat and pushed him out of the van, but Morelli wants him alive for now.

“Mmmmff.” The brat turns over, her fingers contracting like kitten claws. Her eyes flick open. They’re green. Not psycho green like Adriano. Pale green with a dark ring. The kind that make you think of Irish hills and secret gardens. I push myself off the banister. “Evening, Tits.”

January squints at me. “Father Monastero?”

I grin. When we got home, I changed into black jeans and a T-shirt. I’d have kept the priest robes on but Morelli told me to quit showing off. “Not a real priest, dipshit.”

Her lower lip trembles and I watch as today’s events replay in her brain. She touches the side of her neck. “You drugged me.”

“I did.” The needle pierced her so easily. I’ll never get over how simple humans are to penetrate. How quickly you can turn the living into the dead.

January sits up, her wedding dress spread around her like a white puddle. Her eyes scan the entrance hall, lingering on the oil paintings and the fire roaring away in the corner. “Where am I?”

I yawn pointedly. The kidnapped are so fucking boring. ‘Why am I here?’ ‘Please let me go?’ ‘I have a family…’ Things won’t get fun again until the others are back downstairs.

“Mr…” She blinks at me. “I don’t know your name?”

“You can call me Doc.”

“Doc, can you please let me go?”

With a sigh, I pull my butterfly knife from my pocket and flick out the blade. “What was that?”