Page 34 of Vicious Intentions
“I know you did,” I say more patiently. “But it wasn’t enough, Rafe.” My grip tightens just slightly. “Is that how you want to go through life? Not being strong enough to protect the ones you love?”
Raffaele steps back, as if my words, combined with my touch, repulsed him now.
“I’m no coward!”
“I never said you were. But what use is bravery if you don’t have the strength to back it up?” A tear streaks down his cheek as the accusation settles in his chest.
I see how it breaks him. How it devastates him. But I also see when the boy he was begins to step aside, and lets the man he was always born to be take center stage.
“Fine,” he says, roughly wiping at his face. “Train me. Induct me. Do whatever you want.” His eyes narrow into two slits. “But I refuse to become a monster. I refuse to become you.”
And with that, he turns and walks away.
Chapter 6
Annamaria
Fifteen years old.
I’m hurrying to my last class when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.
Rafe:Hey. You got a minute?
Me:Sure. What’s up?
Rafe:Can I call you?
I bite my lower lip and glance down the hallway, now thinning as students rush toward their classrooms before the bell. I should be moving with them, but Raffaele and I rarely get the chance to talk on the phone. It’s too risky. Texts can be explained away. A phone call would invite too many questions. Especially at home, where my siblings are both nosy and protective. Since I’m not exactly a social butterfly, talking to anyone on the phone would immediately draw their curiosity. They’d want to know who I was talking to and why.
I’m still considering my options when Raffaele sends me another text.
Rafe:Anna?
Damn it. He seems anxious.
I’ve never ditched class before. Not once in all my years at Sacred Heart. Except for that one afternoon spent holed up beneath the school’s chapel, praying over a rice-filled bag and the only connection I had to Raffaele. I doubt missing one class will do much harm.
Me:Give me five minutes.
Not wanting anyone to see me, I hurry outside, scanning the grounds for somewhere private to talk without being interrupted. Or worse, caught by one of the nuns and reported to my parents for skipping class.
Since the chapel is usually empty around this time of day, I decide to go in there, but when I reach the stairs and see Father Torres inside, talking to my brother, Enzo, no less, I quickly backtrack.
By the time my phone vibrates with an incoming call, I know my five minutes are up. I make a split-second decision and slip behind the chapel into the small garden tucked away in the back. There are no windows along this side of the building, and the thick bushes offer enough cover to keep me hidden away from prying eyes. I head straight for a bench that rests near the base of an old oak, and I drop onto it to answer the call.
“Hey,” I say, a little breathless.
“Have you been running?” Raffaele asks. His voice sounds off. Tense.
“A little. What’s wrong?”
“You picked up on that, huh?” he says with a quiet sigh. “You always could read me like no one else.”
“Well, we’ve been friends a long time. It’s easy to tell when you’re not okay.”
“No. That’s not it,” he says slowly, and I can almost picture him dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve always had thisuncanny ability to see right into me. It’s like you feel what I’m feeling. And I doubt it’s only with me either. It’s like you know what people are carrying just by being near them. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“Are you calling me an empath?” I ask, smiling despite myself.
