Page 2 of Saint Valentine

We were in the middle of taking our dolls shopping when I heard my father’s voice. He was using the hard tone that even made dangerous men’s spines straighten.

I didn’t move. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t cower to men like my father. I knew that even as a kid. You either stood tall or got crushed.

“Saint!” he snapped, his eyes narrowing when he saw the doll in my hand. “What the hell are you doing in here holding that fucking doll?”

I raised my hands to protect my face, bracing myself, ready for what was coming—a punch, a slap.

But before he could hit me, Aria moved, planting herself in front of me.

A barrier. Shielding me from him.

“Don’t you hurt him!” she yelled, her small body vibrating with anger. Her fists were balled, like she was ready to fight my fatherhead-on—this man who was ten times bigger than her—if she had to.

It was ironic, since just minutes ago, I had felt the need to protect her.

For a moment, my father just looked at her, like she was some bug that needed to be squashed. His eyes were filled with so many unkind things. But then, suddenly, he smiled, letting out a chuckle under his breath before his hand moved, aiming to pinch her cheek.

She wasn’t having it.

Her small hand shot up and slapped his away with a growl—an actual growl—like a little yappy dog you had to kick to shut up.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, her little face fierce.

At that moment, the door opened again, and her father walked in.

He was huge, his skin the color of the darkest night. He reminded me of a book I’d read once, about a man who challenged a locomotive. He was dressed in a pair of suit pants but wearing Jordans. His haircut was sharp, waves rippling like they belonged to the ocean.

I didn’t expect the jovial laugh that erupted from him as he leaned down, pulling Aria his way.

“Who you out here fussing at, little girl?” he asked, chuckling. “This boy messing with you?” He smiled in my direction.

Aria didn’t take her eyes off my father. “He was gonna hit him for being nice to me. He didn’t want to play dolls, but I made him.

Her father chuckled, a deep, rumbling laugh that seemed to shake the room. “You just like your mama. Forceful.” Then he turned to my father and added, “Don’t blame the boy. Mydaughter has a way of making people do what they don’t want. And some unsolicited advice.” He nodded in my direction. “You treat them bad, and they might end up turning on you.”

He smiled at me again, and for the first time ever, I felt respected and protected in the presence of an adult male.

He interrupted whatever my father might have said when he cut his eyes back to Aria.

“Come on, girl. We gotta get home before your mama finds out I brought you here.”

She nodded. “Yes, Daddy.” And took his hand.

“Bye, Saint,” she called over her shoulder with a smile, then glanced back at my father with a glare. “That’s your name, or just what your mean daddy calls you?”

“That’s my name,” I said, a little too loudly.

My father cursed in Italian, his voice lower than usual, like he didn’t want to be heard by anyone other than me, but the irritation was clear on his face.

“Saint, move your ass,” he said. “We’ve got work to do.”

I didn’t argue. I never did. I just followed him, leaving the den and the dolls behind.

But as I walked away, I glanced back at Aria one last time. She was looking at me, smiling, her little hand waving at me like we were old friends.

That moment stayed with me, tucked away in the back of my mind.

She was Aria Heart, the girl who stood up to my father, who didn’t flinch, who didn’t back down.

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