Page 20 of Saint Valentine

I didn’t move.

His smirk deepened. He laced his fingers through mine. I hated how my body reacted to his touch, how my heart raced even asmy mind screamed at me to pull away. But I didn’t. And as the car pulled away, I realized how little control I had despite me thinking otherwise.

Chapter nine

Aria

The restaurant was one of the most expensive in town, a place where the elite came to see and be seen. You usually needed a reservation for month in advance to get in. Tonight, it was empty—except for us. Saint had cleared it out, leaving only the owner, who apparently owed him a favor, the chef, and twenty bodyguards sitting at tables with guns next to their plates. It was excessive, even by my standards, and I’d grown up in this world. I should have known he wasn’t going to take my ass out in public without precautions. I would have surely acted up.

The atmosphere was so tense, it was palpable.

Everyone but Saint was on edge. But he didn’t need to be. He was in control. He sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed, his expression calm. He looked like a king holding court.

The owner hovered near the bar, nervous energy radiating from him in waves. The chef peeked from the kitchen every few minutes.

Jason was laughing too loudly, nodding at every word Saint uttered like it was gospel. It annoyed me. He could have pretended not to be so damn eager to please. But he was playing his part. He was an underling, and that was why we were all in this mess.

Saint, on the other hand, barely acknowledged him. He was more interested in trying to force me to talk.

I took a sip of my own wine, not because I wanted it, but because I needed something to do with my hands.

Isabella was practically crushing my hand under the table, her grip so tight I thought she might break my fingers. She hadn’t said a word since we sat down, her eyes kept darting around the room like she was waiting for someone to pull a gun and shoot her. She was the daughter of a nurse and a construction worker. She grew up middle class, in a good neighborhood. She wasn’t built for this.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor.

Saint’s hand shot out, grabbing mine before I could take a step. His grip was firm but not painful, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at me. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“Using the restroom,” I said, meeting his gaze without flinching. “What exactly am I going to do with a hundred guards sitting around?”

For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, he broke into a smile—a real smile, not the cold, calculating smirk I was used to. “You’re right,” he said, releasing my hand. “Go. But hurry. Don’t want your food to get cold.”

I didn’t wait for him to change his mind. I grabbed Isabella’s hand and pulled her to her feet, ignoring the way her nails dug into my palm. We made our way to the restroom, the sound of our heels clicking against the polished floor echoing in the empty restaurant.

As soon as the door closed behind us, Isabella let out a string of curses in Spanish. “That motherfucker is crazy and scary,” she hissed, her voice trembling. “He has us living like millionaires, but I can’t even enjoy it. I’m waiting for him to kill us. Why didn’t you tell me you knew Saint Valentine? And when are we leaving? Where is Jasons dad?”

I leaned against the sink, my arms crossed over my chest. “First, yes, he’s fucking nuts. And I don’t know him. I met him twice as a child. That’s it. I skipped over the question about Jasons father, he was probably dead.”

Isabella’s eyes bugged out of her head. “And he wants to marry you? What the hell, Aria?”

“I think I fucked up when I gave him a gun,” I admitted, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

“What?” Isabella stared at me like I’d just grown a second head. “You have to explain that.”

“Later,” I said, shaking my head. “Right now, you need to listen to me. Don’t fight anything that’s going on, and definitely don’t run. He has a maze that prevents you from leaving, and on the other side of that is his father’s house. If you try to escape, you’ll just end up back where you started—or worse. I promise we’ll be free in a few days.”

Isabella opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, there was a loud bang at the door. We both jumped, my heart racing as the door swung open.

Saint was standing there, his expression calm but his eyes eagle-sharp.

“What are you two huddled up talking about?” he asked, looking directly at Isabella for an answer.

Isabella was trembling, her face pale. There was no way she could answer him. I stepped forward, blocking her from his view. “Nothing,” I said, my voice steady. “Just girl talk.”

Saint’s smile turned cold. “You all wouldn’t be planning an escape, would you, Isabella?” he asked, his tone light but laced with menace. “Because if you are, let me tell you what I’ll do to you if you try.”

“I won’t hurt Aria. I’ll hurt you, though. I’ll take a knife to that pretty little face of yours, carve it into something grotesque.” He smiled wider. “And if I’m feeling particularly creative, maybe I’ll remove that tongue of yours entirely. Because why do you need it if you won’t answer a fucking question?”

Boom!

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