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Chapter Eighteen-Priest

Lilith sat across from me at the long table, chin lifted like a porcelain doll’s. Her smile was soft but her eyes were calculating.

Her father held court at the head of the table, droning on about Miami crews trying to move in on the docks back in the eighties. A story we’d all heard before—hell, half the men at the table had helped bury the bodies.

Lilith fake-laughed at every dry punchline.

Then her hand slid toward mine—twice.

I didn’t take it. I hated her. Hated the way she existed in my space like she owned the air I breathed.

“Priest,” she said, sweet as poisoned sugar, “tell them about the property we’re looking at in Naples. ”

“We’re not.”

She laughed like I’d told a joke. “He’s always so modest. He’s been working nonstop to give me the beach house I want.”

The table chuckled. I didn’t.

Gabriele Aiello cut me a look but stayed silent. He’d been cold ever since Lilith’s last breakdown. I didn’t know if he was waiting for an apology or a war.

I’d rather give him a war than apologize.

Lilith leaned toward me, her hand brushing my arm like she owned my skin. “You look tired.”

“I am.” I kept my voice flat.

“You should sleep in tomorrow.” Her thumb stroked my skin. “You’ve earned it.”

I shoved my chair back. I was done.

“I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Priest—” she warned.

I ignored her.

I’d been staying away from Miyori since she left me in Bora Bora—because Lilith had gone to see her. The vacation to Bora Bora had been Lilith’s idea. I thought it would appease her after she found out about Miyori . It hadn’t.

That’s why I was keeping my distance again. But fuck, I missed her. Missed the peace. Her smell. Missed the way she didn’t play fucking games. The way her body felt under mine—real, warm, alive.

I turned to leave.

Her fathers voice sliced through the room. “Priest.”

I paused. Didn’t turn.

“Don’t make me clean up a mess that shouldn’t exist.”

I kept walking.

The night air hit me like a slap.

I made it three steps before I heard her—the click of her heels, fast and desperate.

“Priest.”

I didn’t stop.

She darted in front of me, chest heaving. “You won’t see her again,” she hissed. “Do you hear me?”

I said nothing.

Her breath came in sharp little gasps. Then—her eyes went wild. Wet.

“You think you can just walk away from me?”

I moved to step around her.

She pulled the knife.

Slim. Silver. Sharp.

Pressed it to her own throat .

I froze.

“I’ll do it,” she whispered, voice cracking.

“You don’t think I will, but I will.” The blade bit into her neck, leaving a thin red line.

“I told my father—if I die, by my hand or yours—he has to skin her alive. He’ll start with her pretty face, take his time on her fat body. Then he’ll bury that bitch breathing.”

A wild laugh bubbled out of her throat. “And he’ll make you watch. You’ll have to live with it for the rest of your life.”

Her hand shook. Mascara streaked down her cheeks in black rivers, but her smile was wide. Manic. She was as crazy as her mother—my mother’s best friend—who slit her wrists when Lilith was thirteen.

There was something bad in their bloodline.

Something broken that could only be fixed by death.

Sebastian had inherited it too. He killed women, for fun.

He’d have them dress in his mother’s clothes first. Miyori was different than his type.

It made even me cringe to think of why he wanted her. He talked about her all the time.

“I love you,” she said, tilting her head. “Everything I did—I did for you. Even the bad things. Especially the bad things.”

I knew exactly what she meant. She’d killed women before—because of me.

I didn’t speak. Didn’ t blink.

One wrong word, and she’d slice her own throat open right in front of me. And as much as I wanted her dead—as much as I’d dreamed of it—I couldn’t let her. Not like this. A part of me still wanted to be the one to kill her. To watch the light leave her eyes.

So I stepped forward.

Her breath hitched. The knife trembled.

I wrapped my fingers around hers, prying the blade free.

She let it go like she’d forgotten she was holding it. Her hand fell limp.

Then she laughed—loud, shrill, unhinged—throwing her head back so far I heard her neck crack.

“I knew you still cared!”

Her fingers latched onto my sleeve, nails biting into the fabric. She dragged me toward the house, humming under her breath.

“Come on, darling,” she murmured, smearing the blood from her neck across my cheek. “Let’s go inside.”

Her voice dropped low, sweet and poisonous.

“You can apologize to Daddy so he won’t be mad.”