Page 13 of Saint Valentine

I stiffened, anger flashing through me. “Yes. And don’t call her out of her name,” I growled, stepping closer to him.

He fixed me with one of his custom glares, his eyes cold, his jaw tight, then suddenly, a wet, hacking cough tore through him. He lurched forward, gripping the door, his whole body shaking as he spat crimson into a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. I waited for him to compose himself. I wouldn’t kick him while he was down. He was still my father.

“No, you can’t marry her. What happens when she finds out? Let it lie, Saint,” he said with the finality of a man used to giving orders.

I shook my head. “I’m not asking for your permission. I’m advising you as to what I’m going to do. She won’t find out, and leave her friends alone too. You can’t argue with me on this, old man. I’m the only reason people still fear you. And you damn well know it. And if you push me to, I’ll leave.”

His lips twisted, his fingers grazing over the cross hanging from his neck like his prayers would scare me. They didn’t. I knew God didn’t listen to men like us. His voice was low and sanctimonious as he muttered, “Il rispetto di un figlio per suo padre è la fondazione dell'onore.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Since fear no longer worked with me, he’d resorted to guilt. I shook my head, the irony of it all too much to ignore. “You quoting the Bible is funny to me,” I said. “I honor you every time I kill in your name,” or don’t kill you, I left the last part unsaid. “This? Her, I won’t compromise on.”

His jaw locked, and his fingers tightened around his cross as if it could give him strength. “You’ll learn the price of defiance, Saint,” he spat, his voice low and venomous, his hand shaking slightly in anger.

I nodded, hoping he felt my indifference like a jab to his gut. “Sure, Father. But remember, it was you who taught me that honor came from power, not piety. I cannot unlearn that lesson.”Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked away. The alarm in my pocket had started to vibrate, letting me know Aria had left my home. My father couldn’t do anything to me—not if he wanted to retire and spend the rest of his life in the little Italian villa he’d bought without being hunted by his enemies. He needed me. He had been known as a ruthless monster once, but now he was a broken man, ravaged by a life lived in excess.

Chapter five

Aria

The room Saint had left me in was plain and sterile—white walls, devoid of any decoration or warmth. The only furniture was a single bed with crisp white sheets, a white comforter, and in the corner, a plain wooden chair. The bathroom held nothing but the barest necessities. A bar of soap, a towel, and a small, unmarked tube of toothpaste. There was nothing to tell me where I was or to help me escape.

I waited for Saint to come back. Five minutes, then ten, before I reached into my bra and pulled out my phone. My fingers trembled as I tapped the screen. No signal. No Wi-Fi.

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath, jabbing at the screen as if I could force a connection. Nothing. It was useless here. This place—wherever I was—was blocking it. Of course, it was. Saint wouldn’t leave me with any chance of escape.

I glanced at the door. It was unlocked. I’d checked.

Either Saint was careless, or he was playing some kind of twisted game. It didn’t matter.

I shoved my phone back into my bra and slipped off the bed. He’d removed my shoes, leaving me in my shirt and biker shorts. My feet were cold against the floor as I moved toward the door. The hallway outside was silent. Too silent. Not a single sound.Where were his guards? It felt wrong, like I was walking into a trap. But I kept going.

I turned left, spotting a living room to my right. It wouldn’t be wise to head out the front door.

I crept out, staying low and quiet, scanning for cameras. There were none that I could see. I listened for footsteps, voices, anything. Each step I took, I checked my surroundings. No sign of anyone. It was the middle of the day. Where was everyone?

I made it to the back door. It wasn’t locked.

My heart hammered in my chest. Was this it? Was I really free?

I didn’t hesitate. My heart pounded like a gavel as I swung the door open and stepped onto a patio. The cool, damp air hit me, and I squinted against the bright sun. Ahead of me lay a garden, surrounded by high hedges that encircled the house on all sides. My only option was to move forward, into it.

Something in my gut told me to turn around, to go back inside. Escape wouldn’t be this easy. But I needed to get far enough away to try for a signal.

I could see the highway from where I stood. Even if I couldn’t get a signal, if I could just get there, I could flag someone down.

I doubted Saint would hurt Jason or Isabella right away. He’d come looking for me first—if they weren’t already dead.Please don’t let them be dead, I thought.

Instead of following my instinct to go back, I stepped off the patio and hit the ground running.

I ran, my feet pounding against the soft grass. But the closer I got to the highway, the more something felt wrong.

I ran into a dead end.

I stopped, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I looked around. There was no clear path ahead. I should’ve been able to see a way through, but the hedges seemed taller, denser, as if they were closing in on me.

I turned. The path I’d just come from didn’t look the same anymore. It was as if the garden itself had shifted, twisted, like it was alive.

I started walking back the way I’d come—at least, I thought I did. Every turn seemed to lead to another dead end. My heart pounded faster. Panic clawed at my throat. I had to get out of here.

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