Luca pushed open the creaking door of the church, the barrel of his gun aimed inside. 

His eyes scanned the room—dark, empty. 

'Good. No one's here.'

A sharp pain flared in his side from the gunshot wound, and he gritted his teeth, fighting against the wave of nausea that hit. 

He limped to the nearest chair and sank into it with a groan. Then he drew in a deep, shaky breath, letting it out slowly as he tried to calm his racing heart. 

'How did Valenti's men find me? How did they know I had no backup?' 

His jaw tightened, the memory of the ambush flashing through his mind. 

The sound of gunfire. Tires screeching. His car spinning off the road into chaos. He cursed under his breath. 

'Smart move. They left me no choice but to bolt through the roadside fields like a rookie.'

His eyes scanned the dim interior. It wasn't much, but it was cover. 

'For now, this would do.'

It was the nearest hiding spot after he'd lured them away. 

A church. 

The first one he'd ever stepped into.

He was about to shut his eyes, just for a second, when something snagged his attention—the cross at the center of the room. 

Its glow pierced through the dark, the only light in the cold, silent space. 

A strange heaviness settled over him.

"They say you're a Savior," he scoffed. "But I've never seen you do anything for me." 

Memories of blood and survival since he was young flashed through his mind. 

But then, the sharp pain in his side flared and pulled him back to reality. 

'Waste of breath. They're probably closing in. I can't stay here long.' 

He controlled his breath through the sting, bracing for his next move.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the silence, soft and melodic.

"Savior, He can move the mountains… My God is mighty to save… He is mighty to save…"

The sound echoed through the empty church, making Luca freeze. His eyes snapped open and scanned the room. 

'Am I dead?'

He saw that he was still in the church. But through his haze, he saw someone.

A woman in a long, flowing white dress. 

She stood before him, arms raised in worship. Her eyes were closed, and a peaceful smile was on her face as she sang. 

The light from the cross bathed her, giving her a supernatural glow. 

For a second, Luca just stared. 

'Is she an angel?'

But then, his eyes snapped to something in her hands. 

"A broom?" he muttered, his body instantly tensing.

Surprised by his voice, the woman's eyes flew open. The broom slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor.

"I—I'm sorry!" she stammered.

Then she crouched down to pick it up with trembling hands. 

"I thought I was alone. I was just cleaning up after the service earlier. Sorry if I interrupted your praying, brother."

"Brother?" Luca echoed, the word strange and unfamiliar on his tongue. "Me? Praying?"

A faint, humorless chuckle escaped him, but it died quickly as a sharp jolt of pain tore through his side. He winced, clutching his ribs, a low groan slipping past his clenched teeth.

"Oh no, what happened to you?" Her voice shifted, laced with concern as her gaze landed on his side.

Her breath hitched when she saw the blood.

 A gunshot wound. 

Her eyes widened, and for a moment she froze, her grip tightening on the broom.

Then, moving carefully, she lowered herself to the chair, sitting a safe distance away. 

Her hands rested on her lap, trembling slightly, but her eyes never left him as if she was waiting for him to respond.

Luca tensed, his jaw tightening. 

'The last thing I need is a heart to heart talk.'

"Better you don't know," he muttered, his voice low and sharp. 

His teeth clenched as he shifted, trying to ease the pain without showing weakness. His dark eyes flicked to her. 

"Leave," he said, the words clipped. "And don't tell anyone you saw me."

The woman blinked, startled by the sharpness of his tone. For a moment, she said nothing, just nodded and turned to leave. 

But halfway to the door, she stopped. 

Slowly, she turned back to face him, clutching the broom like it was her anchor.

"I won't ask any questions," she said, her voice calm but firm, like she'd made up her mind. "But let me help you."

Luca's eyes narrowed as she took a hesitant step closer.

"I'll take you to the hospital. I know someone there," she continued. "I'll say I'm your guardian. No one will ask questions." Her expression shifted, a quiet gentleness breaking through her fear. "I'm Grace, by the way."

Grace smiled—a soft, almost disarming smile that, for a fleeting moment, loosened the tension in Luca's chest. The pain in his side seemed to dull just a little. 

But before he could let his guard slip, he snapped back into himself, the walls going up again as he thought through her offer.

'They'd find me at a hospital in no time.'

He glanced at her, noticing how her hazel brown eyes watched him—full of concern even in obvious fear. 

'She might be a risk, but she seems sincere.'

He considered his options, a new thought creeping into his mind. 

'I don't know anyone who can help me around here…'

His voice dropped, almost gentle, as he met her gaze. 

"Can you take me somewhere private instead? Like your place… Sister Grace?"

He used the tone he rarely let slip—a soft, coaxing one, the kind that pulled at sympathy without asking for it outright.

"My place?" Grace hesitated, her brows knitting. "I'm not sure about that. Maybe we can talk to Pastor Francis—he's close by. Don't worry. You can trust him."

Luca's chest tightened at her suggestion.

'I don't trust anyone. Not even you,' he wanted to say. 

But the words caught in his throat as he struggled to catch his breath. 

He leaned back, pressing harder against his side, his jaw clenched against the pain.

Just then, footsteps echoed from outside the church. Luca's body went rigid as his eyes shot to the door. 

'Valenti's men…'

Grace didn't seem to notice the shift in the air. 

"It must be him, Ptr. Francis," she said, her voice light, a hopeful smile tugging at her lips as she rose and began walking toward the door.

But Luca wasn't about to let that happen. 

'I can't fight them off like this. I have no choice.'

Pain shot through him, but he ignored it. 

He yanked the gun from his jacket. With a swift motion, he aimed it at Grace, his voice suddenly cold, hard, and unrecognizable. 

"If you want to live, you will not open that door."