Page 15 of Saint Valentine

Back in the room, I dropped into the chair and flicked through the camera feeds.

Aria was back up on her feet, pacing. Her head was down as she mumbled something too low for me to hear.

The rain had slowed, but she was shivering. I picked up the phone, reached under my desk and switched off the jammer that blocked the phone signal. If you didn't have access to it, you couldn't make calls or use the internetwithin a five mile radius of my home. I called the maid. “Bring dinner to my office,” I said, not taking my eyes off the screen. “And make it quick.”

The food arrived within minutes—steak, potatoes, a glass of red wine. I ate slowly, savoring each bite while I watched her. She had made it to her feet again, stumbling as she tried to find a way out. But exhaustion was setting in. Good. Let her feel it. Let her realize how pointless trying to escape was.

My phone buzzed. Luciano. I answered without looking away from the screen. “What?”

“You’re late,” he said, his voice sharp. “The Russians are getting restless.”

“You handle it. I’m suspending all business for the foreseeable future,” I said, my tone calm but firm. “I’m getting married.”

There was a pause on the other end. Luciano didn’t talk much—never had. He was strange, quiet. He’d been kidnapped as a kid.He was like me in ways. Our fathers had groomed us to take over their operations. He didn’t process emotions like other people either. But Luciano had always been... different. I met him when he was sixteen, and by then, the damage had already been done. He grunted, a sound of disapproval, and then hung up abruptly. No questions, no congratulations, no argument. Just silence.

I put the phone down and leaned back, my eyes still on Aria. She was leaning against a hedge now, her head in her hands. The rain had stopped, but the garden was still slick, the earth damp. I was proud of her for lasting so long out there. Grown men had resorted to begging and pleading.

I finished the meal, pushed the plate aside. The maid came in to clear the tray, silent and efficient. I didn’t thank her. She knew her place.

Aria lay down on the ground, staring up at the sky, motionless. I stood, stretching again, and walked into my bedroom. I changed into sleep clothes and climbed into bed. Before lying down, I switched off the surveillance monitors in the office and pulled up the feed on my phone. Aria was now huddled on the ground, shaking. The rain had stopped, but the night was cold. If I thought she’d be grateful, I’d go get her, but I knew she would fight me even after I rescued her.

Propping up the phone on my nightstand, the screen glowing faintly in the dark. I watched her for a while until my eyes grew heavy. The last thing I saw before falling asleep was her, alone in the maze, shivering under the pale light of the moon.

Chapter Seven

Aria

I woke up to the sensation of movement. My eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, I was disoriented. Why weren’t my feet on the ground? I was floating. Then I realized—I was in his arms. Saint was carrying me. My eyes flew to his face; it was unreadable. Anger surged through me. I thrashed in his arms, my voice came out hoarse when I yelled, “Put me down!”

He gave me an exasperated look that said I was annoying him.

“No,” he replied simply.

“Put me the fuck down, now, Saint!” I screamed, my dry throat rubbing together.

He didn’t hesitate this time. He dropped me, and I hit the ground hard, the impact making my already sore body throb.

Then he stood staring down at me, looking fucking smug in his expensive pajamas.

I wanted to knock his head off.

I scrambled to my feet, my legs shaky, my clothes still damp from the rain. I reached up and mushed his forehead. “You set that shit up for me to get lost, then left me for hours in the rain? You’re fucking evil!” I spat, my voice trembling with rage.

Before I even thought better of it, I swung at him, my fist aiming for his face, but he caught my wrist easily, his grip like iron. “Itold you not to hit me again. You already have strike one, Aria,” he said, his voice calm, almost bored. It only made me angrier.

“What happens on strike three?” I challenged. Before he could respond, I swung again, my other hand flying toward him, but he stepped back, dodging effortlessly.

He laughed at me.

“Fuck you! Just let me go. This shit is stupid!” I shouted, my voice cracking. There was no way I could have affected him enough as a child for him to be doing this now.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he turned and walked away.

“Take the money and let us go. Or I'm going to be your fucking ruin.” I yelled after him.

He kept walking, his long legs eating up the space between us and the door quickly.

I tried to keep up, but my body ached, my legs were stiff and uncooperative. The cold had seeped into my bones, and every movement felt like a struggle. I forced myself to keep going, trailing him into the house. Staying quiet, because even talking hurt—my throat felt like I was swallowing sawdust.

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