Page 31 of Saint Valentine

“You don’t understand. Ava’s not just some girl. She’s… everything.”

I tilted my head, studying him closely.

“Everything, huh?”

I could relate.

“Sounds like you’re just as obsessed as I am.”

He didn’t deny it.

The look in his eyes—that darkness—I recognized it.

“You let the world break you. You don’t think you’re worthy of Ava. You’re too wrapped up in your vengeance to even know how to live anymore. You don’t fuck, you don’t talk, you don’t feel.You’re just a boy, stuck in the past. You deserve her, but you’ll never see it until you take her.”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

There was only the sound of his fingers tapping the glass.

I kept prodding.

Luciano was the closest thing I had to a friend in this life.

I wanted him to feel what I felt.

To be able to reach out and touch Ava the way I could with Aria.

I kept prodding.

“You’re considering it,” I said. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re thinking about it right now.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe,” he said finally. “Maybe I should.”

And then he stood, his chair scraping against the floor as he walked away.

Luciano wasn’t the type for long goodbyes. Or goodbyes at all.

I raised my hand, signaling for the waitress. Since I was out, I might as well have a drink.

Chapter fifteen

Saint

The ride home was a blur of streetlights, whiskey fumes, and thoughts of Aria. I barely remembered dismissing the guards at the door as I stumbled inside. My behavior was reckless. I couldn’t protect Aria or myself in this state.

I wouldn’t that mistake again.

I made my way to the room where she was, my footsteps heavy, my head swimming. The liquor had done its job, but instead of numbing me, it sharpened everything. Every thought. Every memory. Every regret.

I pushed the door open, and found Aria asleep on top of the covers, her body curled into itself as though trying to disappear. The moonlight spilled over her, catching the curve of her hip, the way her shirt rode up just was enough to dick fight against the effects of the whiskey. She looked peaceful, almost innocent—but I knew better.

I stood there for a moment, watching her. Doubt about us crept in. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken her. Maybe I should’ve let her go, let her live her life far away from me. The strife, the violence.

But I’d wanted her for so long. There was no way I could let her go now.

I climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. She stirred but didn’t wake. I hovered over her, my shadow falling across her face, I whispered her name.

“Aria.”

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