Page 113 of Made for Saints

Not again.

The waitress returned to clear our cups, and Luca glancedat his watch, his expression turning brisk. “I’ve got a meeting in twenty. Rafe, you coming?”

Rafe shrugged, finishing the last of his cappuccino. “Might as well. Someone’s gotta keep you from screwing it up.”

Luca rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, and the two of them stood, leaving a few bills on the table as they headed for the door. I stayed behind, my fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as I stared into the dregs of my coffee.

Valentina. The missing money. The Russians. It was all connected, I was sure of it. But the pieces weren’t fitting together yet, and that gnawed at me. I didn’t like puzzles I couldn’t solve. And I sure as hell didn’t like the idea of Valentina holding a piece of this one.

With a sigh, I stood, pulling on my jacket as I left the café. The cool air hit me as I stepped outside, cutting through the lingering haze of coffee and tension. My car was parked a block away, and I walked toward it with purpose, my mind already turning over the next steps.

But as I slid into the driver’s seat, my thoughts shifted—away from Valentina, away from the missing money, and back to Emilia.

Her smile. Her laugh. The way she’d looked at me this morning, her eyes soft with gratitude as she ate the breakfast I’d made for her. It was a simple moment, but it had hit me harder than I cared to admit. She didn’t belong in this world—didn’t belong in the chaos and violence that defined my life. But I couldn’t let her go. I wouldn’t.

She was mine now. And I’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.

Even if it meant tearing down the world to do it.

Chapter 36

Emilia

The phone rang late, its vibration rattling against my nightstand like a persistent knock. I blinked at the screen, my heart skipping a beat when I saw the name. Dante.

I hesitated for a moment, my thumb hovering over the answer button. The man had a way of getting under my skin, of making me feel like I was teetering on the edge of something dangerous and thrilling. And yet, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting more.

With a deep breath, I swiped to answer. “Hello?”

“Good evening, princess,” Dante’s voice rumbled through the line, low and sultry, like velvet dragged over gravel. My stomach flipped, and I clutched the phone tighter. “I was wondering,” he drawled, his tone laced with amusement, “if you feel like being a bad girl tonight.”

My breath hitched, and I felt a flush creep up my neck, spreading like wildfire. “What?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“You heard me,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Do you feel like being a bad girl?”

Heat pooled low in my belly, and I clenched my thighs instinctively, my mind flashing back to the last time he’d called me that—his hands on my body, his lips whispering sinful promises against my skin.

“Yes,” I whispered, the word slipping out before I couldstop it.

“Good,” he said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Meet me at the spot where you pick up your Ubers.”

“How do you know about that?” I gasped, my voice a mix of curiosity and indignation. My heart was pounding now, not just from the way his voice wrapped around me like a vice, but from the realization that he’d been watching me. Paying attention.

Dante’s low chuckle rumbled through the line, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re not as slick as you think, Emilia.”

The way he said it—so calm, so assured—made my breath catch. There was no malice in his tone, no accusation. Just a simple statement of fact, as if my life had always been his to observe, to control. And maybe it had been.

“You’re insufferable,” I muttered, though the heat in my cheeks told a different story.

“And yet, here you are,” he countered smoothly. “Now, listen carefully. Wear something that makes you look like you own the world. High-class. Sexy. But not too much—leave something for me to unwrap later.”

My stomach flipped, and I bit my lip to stifle the small gasp that threatened to escape. “Anything else, Your Majesty?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm to mask the way my pulse raced.

“Just one more thing,” he said, his voice dipping lower, darker. “I'll be there in ten."

The line went dead before I could respond, leaving me staring at my phone, the screen glowing faintly in the dim light of my bedroom. For a moment, I just sat there, the weight of his words settling over me like a heavy, silken blanket.

Then I threw the covers off and bolted to my closet.

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