Page 3 of Saint Valentine

She was unlike anyone I’d ever met.

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A few days later, I was surprised when my father came into my room and told me to go into the den to play with Aria. Her face had been in my mind—the way she stood up to my father, the way she wasn’t scared. I hadn’t expected to ever see her again, let alone have him tell me to play with her. He’d made such a big deal the first time.

When I walked into the room, she looked up from the toy in her hand, a set of pink and purple clackers, her eyes widening as if she didn’t expect me to actually show up. She ran over and wrapped her thin arms around me. It wasn’t quick. She held on like she thought I really needed a hug.

When she pulled back, her eyes narrowed.

“What happened to your face?” she asked.

I raised my hand and rubbed at the bruise on my cheek. My eye was still black from a few days ago when my father got angry that I broke a glass in his office after he forced me to eat with him. My father was like that. One minute, he’d be calm, talking business, trying to make me fit into his world. The next, something small would set him off, and all of a sudden, I’d be reminded of how easily everything could break. How easily I could break.

“It’s nothing. I fell,” I lied, my voice low. I didn’t want to explain my father to her.

Aria didn’t buy it. She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head, as if I was the one lying to myself.

“You don’t have to pretend,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I know what men like your father do. My daddy told me. He says men like your daddy don’t know how not to be violent. They don’t know love. Only destruction. And sometimes... their own loved ones are the ones who feel it the most.”

I swallowed hard. “My father says love is why he has to keep me in line. He says it’s for my own good, that the world won’t be kind to a man who doesn’t know discipline.”

She wrinkled her little nose. “Your daddy sounds stupid. And mean. That’s why you need this.” She looked at me with those wide, innocent eyes as she reached into her pretty pink bag and pulled out something small and shiny. My mind didn’t register at first that it was a gun. Because why would she have a gun?

My heart rate kicked up as I took it from her and stuffed it in my hoodie. “You shouldn’t have this,” I said. “You’re too young. You’re a kid.”

She grinned at me. “What are you, ten?” she asked. “You’re a kid too, silly. Besides, my daddy taught me how to use it and carry it safely. My momma too. He said so people won’t hurt us before we can hurt them. You can keep your daddy from hurting you with it.” She said it so casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “You point, pull the trigger, and then pow.”

I didn’t know what to say. I just stared at her, the gun heavy in my hoodie.

Aria changed the subject to all her favorite animals, and she didn’t stop talking until she realized I wasn’t talking. She turned to look at me, her eyes searching mine. “Do you ever talk, Saint?”

I shrugged. I didn’t talk much. Not like she did.

“I do talk,” I rushed out. “I just don’t know how to talk to you.”

She giggled. “You talk to me like you talk to anybody else.”

“I don’t talk to anybody else much either. My father said a child is to be seen and not heard.”

“Well, you should talk more and not listen to him,” she said.

A second later, her father walked into the room. He smiled at Aria, and then turned his gaze to me.

“Hey, son,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. “You look healthy. Despite the eye.” He grinned. “Duck next time. Then come up and jab him in the ribs. You’re big for your age—he’ll feel it if you put your weight into it. He might still whoop your ass, but at least it won’t be for nothing, and you’ll feel better about that ass-whooping, right?”

And in that moment, I decided something. I would be more of a man like him than my father. They were both powerful, but where my father ruled with fear and insecurity, Drake was confident and controlled. Even at that young age, I knew he carried the kind of calm power that made everyone around him want to follow him.

Aria was nodding her little head, like she agreed with everything he said.

He gave me a pat on the shoulder before turning to his daughter. “It’s time to go, Aria. Say goodbye to Saint.”

Before she could say anything, I looked up at him. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Just... a minute. I’ll be right back.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He nodded once.

I didn’t waste any time. I ran upstairs to my dresser in my room, where my mother’s ring sat. I hadn’t met her—she died when I was born—but my grandmother had told me it was her favorite and gave it to me when my father was going to throw all her stuff away. My grandmother is dead now too. It was just my father and me.

The ruby gleamed in the light as I picked it up, my fingers brushing the smooth metal.

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