Page 1 of Saint Valentine

Prologue.

I can't forget the day I met her.

It started out as a normal day.

As a kid, the air in my father’s house always felt thick with power. It made it hard to breathe and swallow.

Men in suits moved quietly through the halls, more shadows than people, their presence a constant reminder of the world I was born into.

I knew the rules.

I followed them or I was brutally reminded.

That day, my father was meeting with Drake Heart, a local kingpin who people only feared when they crossed him. Otherwise, he was respected—a fact my father hated. He couldn’t stand that a man who commanded respect without demanding it held as much influence as he did. It gnawed at him, the way Drake moved through the world with an ease my father could never replicate, no matter how much he tried. I had hear that from his mouth.

I was in the den, pretending to be preoccupied, waiting for my father to start his meeting with Drake so I could watch TV—Teen Titans, specifically. That was the only time I could escape him, when he was too busy making deals to try and mold me into his image.

I heard her father’s booming voice first, directing her to go play, loud enough to echo down the hall. Then, my father’s voice followed, directing her my way. A few seconds later, she walked in.

She was small, dressed in a frilly pink dress and shiny shoes, her brown face glowing, her wild curls tamed by big bows. She looked so innocent and clean. She didn’tlook like she belonged in a place that smelled like cigars and tension.

She was a burst of color in a black-and-white world.

Her eyes found mine, and her face lit up like she’d been waiting for this moment. She walked right up to me, held out her tiny hand, and introduced herself—her voice steady and sure, despite her size.

“I’m Aria Heart.”

She was seven or eight. I was ten.

I blinked, caught off guard. She didn’t act likethe other kids I had interacted with before. There was no fear in her eyes, no brokenness. I wasn’t used to talking to kids who were fromthis world but hadn’t been affected by it.

She looked so... calm, happy.

In a world full of evil, it seemed that she had been untouched by the darkness.

And for some reason, something in me made me want to keep it that way. To protect her. It made me stand up straighter.

I glanced down at her hand, unsure if I should shake it or not. She just stood there, waiting, like she would wait forever until I did.

Finally, I shook it. Her grip was strong, like the one my father had drilled into me. It didn’t match the softness of her face.

She tilted her head, studying me. “You didn’t tell me your name,” she said matter-of-factly. “And do you want to play dolls with me?”

I blinked again, caught off guard by the question.

“Dolls?” I repeated.

“Yeah!” she said, grinning. She had perfect white teeth.

I looked at her, then at the door, hearing the muffled voices of our fathers still talking outside. It felt like an eternity before I said anything.

“I don’t... I don’t play with dolls,” I muttered.

“You do now,” she said without missing a beat. She handed me a brown doll in a bathing suit, its plastic eyes staring up at me blankly.

“Okay,” I muttered, unsure why I even agreed. “Fine.”

Her grin widened, and she spun around, clearly pleased with herself.

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