Chapter 6

At Arnold’s Mansion …

In the mansion’s basement, Arnold stood with a gun pointed at a man kneeling on the cold floor.

The man—Mr. Douglas—was barely conscious. Bruises covered his body. Blood streamed from his nose, his neck red and raw as though he had been strangled. His once-white shirt was soaked in blood, clinging to his trembling frame as he begged for his life.

“Mr. Douglas,” Arnold said calmly, his voice chilling, “you used to be my favorite dealer. And now you’ve tampered with something I hate being touched.”

He walked toward him at an unhurried pace, the gun never wavering. Douglas shivered violently.

“I—I’m sorry,” Douglas stammered. “Your muse is too beautiful to resist, tho I was only saving her from tripping. I’m sorry Arnold please. Okay I know I need to pay so, Just tell me how much you want me to pay for the damage. Name anything—my mansion in Greece, my beach house in the Maldives, my skyscraper in Dubai. Anything. I’ll call my lawyer right now. Please… don’t kill me.”

Arnold hummed, pretending to consider the offer. “Interesting.”

He signaled one of his men. Douglas’s phone was pulled from his pocket—his hands were tied.

“The password,” Arnold said.

“257654,” Douglas whispered, shaking.

The phone unlocked.

“What did you save your lawyer’s name as?” Arnold asked, his tone calm—too calm.

“The Law…” Douglas replied.

Arnold nodded. His man dialed the number and pressed the phone to Douglas’s ear.

The lawyer answered after two rings. They spoke briefly, though the lawyer was confused by Douglas’s trembling voice and sudden demand to transfer his mansion and skyscraper to Arnold. Suspicion stirred—but Douglas insisted he had lost them to gambling with Mr. Arnold.

Reluctantly, the lawyer agreed. The documents were sent via P*F. The call ended.

Arnold smiled, turned to his guards who were grinning at his instant achievement.

“Well,” he said softly, “I’m now the proud holder of a mansion in Greece and a skyscraper in Dubai.”

Then his smile vanished.

He raised the gun again.

“Please,” Douglas sobbed. “I’ve given you almost everything I have. Please let me go.”

“Yes,” Arnold replied coldly. “But not everything.”

“What else do you want?” Douglas asked, shaking violently.

Arnold leaned in and said sharply, “Your life.”

He pulled the trigger.

Douglas’s body collapsed to the floor, motionless.

Few shots followed, he made sure he’s was gone completely before he stopped shooting.

Arnold stared at the corpse for a moment.

“Clear this mess,” he ordered.

He walked to the sink and washed the blood from his hands.

“I hate this,” he muttered. “Now I need a confession. I can’t rush things with this new priest. I’ll have to wait… I hope he’s someone I could trust.”

He wiped his hands with a handkerchief.

“Sir,” one of his men said, “there’s a charity donation at the chapel today.”

“There’s what…,” Arnold replied in a sharp and angry tone . “How come I wasn’t aware and am just knowing now .”

He bunched the wall angrily. “What kind of game are they playing with me”.

“And the new priest will be there,” the man added.

Arnold froze.

“He’s in Sicily already?, he asked rhetorically looking at the man

He nodded signaling yes

“Interesting ” he muttered. “That transfer was fast. I’ll need to tread carefully.”

He straightened. “I sense conspiracy, well, get the cars ready. Prepare the orphan donations. And tell Anna to get ready—she needs prayers from this new priest . Let’s go pay him a visit, he might be expecting us too”, Arnold grinned.

“Yes, boss,” the man said, hurrying out.

At the Chapel…

Carden—now Father Damien Narvick—stood before a mirror, dressed in priestly attire, staring at his reflection.

“Am I really doing this?” he whispered. “I’ve never been this scared… or this determined… not even after losing my parents.”

He exhaled deeply. “For my peace, I’m willing to risk it.”

He adjusted his collar.

His phone rang.

Carlos.

“Hey, man—or should I say, Father Damien?” Carlos joked.

“Stop it,” Carden replied.

“I can’t help it,” Carlos laughed.

Carden sighed.

“Are you ready for the donation?” Carlos asked, growing serious.

“Yes… but I’m nervous.”

“You’ll be fine. Just don’t blow your cover,” Carlos warned. “I’m here for you, even from afar. Go get your dream girl.”

Carden smiled faintly. “Thanks, man.”

The bell rang.

“I need to go. It’s time,” Carden said hurriedly.

“Be good,” Carlos replied.

“And thanks—my room décor is lit,” Carden added.

“You’re welcome.”

The line went dead.

A knock followed immediately.

Carden opened the door quickly, adjusting his glasses—his disguise complete. He shut the door just as fast, avoiding curious eyes.

Outside stood Fred… and a woman dressed in a long gown, a veil draped over her head with a wimple and coif, a rosary hanging from her neck.

She was unmistakably a nun.

“This is Sister Vera,” Fred said. “She’ll assist you with anything you need.”

They exchanged brief pleasantries as they walked toward the donation grounds.

Carden pulled Fred aside. “Does she know anything about my disguise?”

“No,” Fred said firmly. “I’ve given her strict rules.

She’s not allowed into your room unless you permit it—and you shouldn’t. Ever.” Fred warned him.

Carden exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”

Before he could say more, the sound of car horns—loud, powerful, deliberate—cut through the air.

A convoy.

The crowd turned.

Luxury cars rolled into the chapel grounds, guards stepping out first, forming a tight perimeter.

Then the door of the central car opened.

Arnold stepped out—commanding, ruthless, untouchable.

And beside him…

Anna.

She walked at his side, guarded, fragile, breathtaking.

Carden’s breath caught.

The world seemed to tilt as his eyes locked onto her.

Her beauty stunned him—soft, haunting, forbidden.

At that moment, Anna lifted her gaze.

And their eyes met.

The priest froze.

The devil smiled.

And fate took its first breath.

It’s her… Carden gasped