SAINTS DON'T BLEED
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…”
The voice trembled in the dim booth, soft but determined. Bella Alvarez had practiced those words in her head all morning, yet they still wavered when they left her mouth. The thin wooden partition, carved with a cross, should have hidden her. Should have protected her.
Except the reply wasn’t what she expected.
“You sure you’re in the right box, sweetheart?” The man’s voice was low, rich, threaded with amusement instead of priestly calm.
Bella froze. “Father?”
A soft laugh. Not holy at all. “I can promise you I’m not your father. But go on. Tell me your sins. I could use the entertainment.”
She shifted on the hard kneeler, blood rushing hot to her cheeks. “This is a confessional. You shouldn’t be ”
“Shh.” His tone was a lazy purr now, deliberate. “Keep talking. I like the sound of it.”
Her pulse slammed against her throat. Who was he? Why was he inside the priest’s side of the booth? She’d only come to the church this morning because her thoughts were choking her. Thoughts that had no business in the head of a woman a week away from taking her vows. Thoughts she could barely name without guilt eating her alive.
“I’ll leave,” she whispered, clutching her rosary.
“Don’t,” he said smoothly. “Now I’m curious. What’s a girl like you confessing to? Lust? Lies? Something darker?”
Bella’s hand tightened on the wooden ledge between them. She should get up. Walk out. Call for Father Gabriel. But something in that voice mocking, unhurried, dangerous pinned her in place.
“I ” She swallowed. “I’ve been… distracted.”
“By what?”
“Not what. Who.” Her words slipped before she could pull them back.
There was silence. Then, a low whistle. “And here I was, hoping you’d say it was me.”
She jerked upright. “You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re blushing through that little screen, aren’t you?”
She pressed a hand to her burning cheek. Her shame doubled when he chuckled, deep and throaty, like he could feel the heat radiating through the grate.
“This is sacrilege,” she hissed.
“No,” he drawled. “This is fun.”
The booth door on his side creaked open. Bella gasped, nearly stumbling out as well, but he moved quicker. The screen swung back, and suddenly, she wasn’t staring at shadows anymore she was staring at a man.
Tall, broad shoulders wrapped in a dark suit that smelled faintly of smoke and expensive cologne. He leaned down, one hand braced on the booth frame, his mouth curved in an infuriating half-smile.
Dark hair. Sharply cut jaw. Hazel eyes that glittered like they had never bowed to anyone.
Definitely not a priest.
“Who the hell are you?” she whispered.
He smirked wider. “Now that doesn’t sound very holy, does it?”
She clutched her rosary tighter. “If you don’t leave this church, I’ll ”
“You’ll what?” He stepped out into the main aisle, waiting. His voice echoed softly under the vaulted ceiling, daring her. “Pray me away?”
Bella’s heart thundered. She should scream for Father Gabriel. She should run. Instead, she followed him out, fury propelling her steps.
“Answer me,” she demanded. “Who are you?”
He turned, light spilling through stained glass onto his face. His grin sharpened into something almost feral.
“Dante Marino.”
The name punched the air from her lungs. Everyone in the neighborhood knew that name. The Marino family. The city’s blood-soaked empire. Dangerous, untouchable, untamed.
Her brother Mateo had cursed that name more than once over the dinner table, muttering about “those Marino bastards” who thought they owned the city.
And here he was. Standing in her church. Smirking at her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said firmly.
“Funny,” Dante murmured, circling closer. “That’s exactly what I was about to tell you.”
Bella frowned. “What?”
“You don’t belong here,” he said, gesturing to the rows of empty pews, the flickering candles. “Not with your mouth. Not with those eyes. You’d make a terrible nun.”
Her breath caught. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He leaned in, his tone softer now, but far more dangerous. “You’ve got too much fire to waste it on prayers nobody’s listening to.”
She stepped back, bumping against the pew. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough,” he replied. “You’ve been thinking about someone. Someone who makes you sin just by existing.” His smile turned wicked. “You’re welcome.”
Her stomach knotted. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe.” He tilted his head, studying her like she was both puzzle and prey. “But tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll walk out right now.”
She opened her mouth. Shut it. Her silence betrayed her.
Dante’s grin deepened. “Thought so.”
The heavy oak door creaked open behind them. Bella spun. Father Gabriel shuffled in, carrying a stack of hymnals.
Her heart stopped.
Dante leaned close, so only she could hear. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m invisible when I want to be.”
And like a shadow, he slipped out the side door, silent as smoke.
Bella stood frozen in the aisle, breathless, staring after him.
Father Gabriel looked up. “Bella? You all right, child?”
She forced her lips to curve. “Yes, Father. Just… finishing my prayers.”
But her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Bella pressed her hands together, trying to calm the tremor in her fingers. She mumbled something about helping polish the pews and ducked away from Father Gabriel before he could notice how flushed she was.
By the time she slipped out into the sunlight, the cool morning air hit her lungs like freedom. She let out a shaky breath and clutched her rosary so tightly it dug crescents into her palm.
Maybe she’d imagined him.
Maybe the devil really was testing her.
Her sandals scuffed against the church steps as she hurried down then stopped dead.
There he was.
Dante Marino lounged against the iron railing as though it were a throne, one hand in his pocket, the other balancing a cigarette between his fingers. He didn’t light it. Just rolled it, watching her with that infuriating grin like he’d been waiting for her all his life.
“Saint Bella,” he drawled.
She stiffened. “Don’t call me that.”
“What should I call you then?” He pushed off the railing and started down a step toward her, his shadow cutting across hers. “Sister Bella? Bride of Christ? Or maybe ” He tilted his head, smirk dangerous. “ mine.”
Her stomach lurched. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossible,” he repeated, savoring it. “Better than boring.”
Bella spun away, determined to walk past him. He fell in step beside her, not hurried, not pressed just… there. Too close. His presence rattled her worse than his words.
“You really shouldn’t be here,” she said again, voice low.
“I was here before you,” he countered.
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.” He flashed her a grin. “But it’s cute watching you try to make rules for me.”
She exhaled hard through her nose. “Do you enjoy tormenting strangers?”
“You’re not a stranger anymore.”
“Good,” she snapped. “Then you’ll know to stay away from me.”
Dante chuckled, deep and husky, the kind of laugh that burrowed under her skin. “Sweetheart, that’s not how this works.”
They reached the corner of the block. The bustle of the city hit them traffic snarling, vendors calling, children running past with ice creams dripping down their wrists. Normal life. A world where mafia heirs weren’t supposed to exist.
Bella turned sharply down the side street, hoping to lose him. Dante followed, his steps unhurried.
“Where are you going?” he asked casually.
“Home.”
“Good. I’ll walk you.”
Her head whipped around. “Absolutely not.”
“Relax.” He held up both hands in mock surrender. “I just want to make sure you get there safe. City’s dangerous.”
Her laugh was sharp, disbelieving. “Says the most dangerous man in it.”
His smile deepened. “Exactly. Which makes me the safest escort you’ll ever have.”
“Bella!”
The shout cut through the air. Her brother’s voice.
Her heart plunged.
Mateo Alvarez strode toward them, jaw tight, black hair slicked back, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked every bit the neighborhood’s self-proclaimed protector and right now, furious older brother.
“What the hell is this?” Mateo’s eyes flicked to Dante, narrowing instantly. “What are you doing with him?”
Dante didn’t miss a beat. “Escorting your sister home. Gentlemanly, isn’t it?”
Mateo’s fists clenched. “You think this is funny, Marino?”
“Little bit.” Dante smirked. “You should try laughing sometime. Might make you less uptight.”
Mateo took a step forward, chest puffed. Bella jumped between them.
“Stop it!” she hissed. “Both of you!”
“Bella, get behind me,” Mateo ordered.
She stayed where she was, glaring at both men. “No. You don’t get to bark orders at me.”
Dante’s grin widened, wickedly pleased. “I like her.”
Mateo’s fury darkened. “Stay the hell away from her, Marino. You hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” Dante said easily. Then leaned closer to Bella, lowering his voice so only she could hear: “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I never listen.”
Her breath caught.
The crack of gunfire split the air.
Three sharp pops. Screams erupted down the block as people scattered.
Bella ducked instinctively, covering her head. Mateo grabbed her arm, shoving her behind him, while Dante moved the other way swift, fluid, scanning the rooftops like he’d done this a thousand times.
More shots. A bullet ricocheted off the lamppost.
“Move!” Dante barked, grabbing Bella’s other arm. For one terrifying moment, both men pulled her in opposite directions Mateo yanking her toward the safety of home, Dante dragging her toward the alley.
Her pulse hammered so loud it drowned everything else.
Another shot. Closer.
Dante’s eyes locked with hers. They weren’t mocking now. They burned, sharp, unflinching, the eyes of a man who’d stared down death and never blinked.
“Trust me,” he said.
Her lips parted.
Mateo snarled. “Don’t you dare.”
The air buzzed with another gunshot. Bella made her choice
