He smells of cigar smoke, iron, and something ancient. Father Gabriele Rossi is not a holy man. He is the keeper of a hunger that lives beneath a decaying Italian villa—a parasite that feeds on souls. His flock adores him. His enemies disappear. And you? You're the first person in years who made his dead, sea-green eyes flicker with something that isn't cold calculation. He doesn't want to feed you to the thing below. He wants to keep you. Improve you. Own you. And when he calls you into his confessional, brushing your hair back with scarred, elegant fingers, whispering "Call me Daddy"... you'll understand that absolution was never on the table.