Page 35 of Saint Valentine

My father’s bodyguard, Gio, stepped toward her. Before I could make a move, Aria swung the large glass vase that had been in the middle of the table at Gio’s face. The sound of glass shattering rang through the room.

“Ah! Fucking bitch!” Gio staggered back, his hands flying to his face. Blood seeped through his fingers, dripping onto his shirt.

He went for his gun.

I was faster.

I didn’t yell or scream. I let the cold steel in my hand speak for me, my finger resting lightly on the trigger. I clicked the safety off and pressed it to the base of his skull. “Now, Gio, you’re like an uncle to me. I would hate to have to pretend to grieve you with your wife and kids, knowing I killed you, but I will.”

His hand dropped to his side.

I turned my gaze to my father. “It was nice of you to check in on your soon-to-be daughter-in-law. Now that you have, get the fuck out of my house,” I said, my voice icy and controlled, not giving my father a second to argue.

He didn’t hesitate. He stood and , walked out, Gio following behind him, holding his face.

Aria was pacing, mumbling under her breath.

“Aria—”

She stopped abruptly, snapping her head in my direction to glare at me. “Shut up. Just shut up talking to me.” Her fists were clenched tightly at her sides, her anger filling every corner of the room.

“You’re the reason I even have to deal with him,” she spat, her words dripping like acid. “I ran from this shit. I left it all behind.”

Her eyes locked onto mine.

“The men you paraded me in front of—they had forgotten about me. And now?” Her voice wavered. “Now they know exactly where to find me. Thanks to you.”

She took a step closer. “And your evil daddy? He’s plotting to get rid of me, and you—” Her voice cracked, but she barreled on, refusing to let the tears pooling in her eyes fall. “And you think your touches and whispering all these weird, heartfelt confessions are supposed to make me want to stay in this mess.”

Her hands flew up, gesturing wildly, as if she could physically tear apart the mess we were in. She was unraveling, thread by thread, and I let her. I let her spit fire. I let her tear into me because she needed this. She needed to scream, to rage.

Finally, she finished. She glared at me, waiting for me to say something. To defend myself. To fight back.

I wouldn’t.

Everything she said was true. Every word, every accusation, every flicker of pain in her eyes—it was all because of me. I had done this. I had brought her here, into this world, into this chaos, and now I was asking her to stay. Asking her to endure it. For me.

I wanted to make her stay, to stand by me, despite it all. I wanted her to be that girl again—the one who stood tall in the face of my father’s rage.

It was selfish.

I took a step closer, my eyes never leaving hers. She flinched, just barely, but she didn’t back away. I could see the storm raginginside her—the anger, the fear, the hurt. It wasn’t anything compared to what I’d endure if I let her go.

“Are you done?”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting in disbelief. Like I had some fucking nerve asking her that.

I did.

Her mouth opened, no doubt to unleash another torrent of curses, but I cut her off before she could start.

“Go get dressed, Aria.”

“For what?”

“You’re coming with me.”

Chapter eighteen

---