Page 109 of Made for Saints

“What?” I answered, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I poured coffee into two mugs.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Luca drawled, histone laced with amusement. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

“I’m making breakfast,” I said, setting the mugs on the counter.

There was a beat of silence, followed by a bark of laughter. “You’re making breakfast? Jesus, Dante, what’s next? Aprons and baking cookies?”

“Fuck off, Luca,” I muttered, though I could feel the corners of my mouth twitching despite myself.

“Oh, this is rich,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Dante Conti, the housewife. Should I get you a cookbook for Christmas? Maybe a subscription to Better Homes and Gardens?”

“Are you done?” I asked, my voice dry as I leaned against the counter.

“Not even close,” he said, still laughing. “But I’ll spare you for now. Hows the don's daughter doing?"

I glanced toward the bedroom, where Emilia was still sleeping, the sheets tangled around her like a cocoon. The sight of her there, so peaceful and vulnerable, made something in my chest tighten. I didn’t deserve this. Her. But I’d be damned if I let anyone take her away from me.

“She’s fine,” I said finally, my tone clipped. “Sleeping.”

Luca let out a low whistle. “Sleeping, huh? So, what, you’re making her breakfast now? Eggs and toast for the princess? Maybe some fresh-squeezed orange juice?”

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” I muttered, grabbing the plates and heading toward the bedroom.

“It’s a gift,” Luca said cheerfully. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to playing house. Lunch at noon, drop the girl home and meet Rafe and I.”

I hung up with a committal noise before he could say anything else, shaking my head as I pushed the door open with my shoulder. Emilia was still asleep, her dark lashes fanned out against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted. She looked so peaceful, so utterly unlike the fierce, defiant woman I’d cometo know—and fall for.

I set the plates down on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her for a moment. The sunlight streaming through the windows cast a soft glow over her skin, and I felt that familiar ache in my chest again. She stirred slightly, her brow furrowing as she blinked up at me, her eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Morning,” I said softly, my voice rougher than I intended.

She blinked again, her gaze focusing on me, and then on the plates of food beside me. “You made breakfast?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I said, smirking as I handed her a plate. “I’m full of hidden talents.”

She sat up slowly, pulling the sheet around her as she took the plate. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice still laced with sleep. “This looks amazing.”

I shrugged, trying to play it off, but the warmth in her eyes made my chest tighten. “Figured you could use a good meal after...everything.”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. She reached out, her fingers brushing against mine, and the simple gesture sent a jolt through me.

Her touch was light, hesitant, but it grounded me in a way I hadn’t expected. It was a reminder that she was here, with me, despite everything. I turned my hand over, letting our fingers intertwine, and for a moment, the weight of the world lifted.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said softly, her gaze dropping to the plate of eggs and toast in her lap. “But...thank you.”

I studied her for a moment, the way her hair fell in messy waves around her face, the faint shadows under her eyes that spoke of the night she’d had.

“I wanted to,” I said simply, my voice low. “You’ve been through enough. The least I can do is make sure you eat.”

I watched her for a moment longer, the way she sat there with her plate perched on her lap, her legs tucked under thesheets, looking at me like I’d just handed her the world. It did something to me—something I couldn’t quite put into words. She had no idea how much power she had over me, how much I wanted to keep her here, safe, always.

“The Romero issue is handled,” I said finally, my voice steady but firm. “There won’t be any fallout, not that there should be. I’ve made sure of that.”

She paused mid-bite, her gaze snapping to mine. I could see the flicker of unease in her eyes, the way her fingers tightened slightly around the fork. “What do you mean, ‘handled’?” she asked carefully.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I met her gaze. “It’s done, Emilia. You don’t need to worry about it. No one’s coming for you. No one’s going to question what happened. As far as the world is concerned, Romero made a mistake and paid the price for it.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She just stared at me, her brow furrowed as if she was trying to process what I’d said. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was holding herself so tightly, like she was afraid to let go.

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