Page 17 of Made for Saints

“Earth to Emilia.” Tony’s voice cut through my thoughts. “You’re going to flood the kitchen.”

I blinked, realizing the tap was still running, water spilling over my hands and pooling in the sink.

I turned it off quickly, grabbing a towel to hide the trembling in my fingers. “Sorry. Just tired.”

“Uh-huh.” Marco’s tone was light, but the way he studied me made my skin prickle. “Nothing to do with a certain dangerous capo who seems very interested in our little sister?”

I dried my hands with more force than necessary, turning to glare at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Dante Conti doesn’t interest me at all.”

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but I held my ground, forcing my expression into one of bored indifference. Let them think yesterday had left me shaken, that I was just another socialite uncomfortable with the violent reality of our world.

Better that than letting them see the truth—the truth that every time I closed my eyes, I saw Dante’s dangerous smile, felt the ghost of his touch on my skin. That instead of being repulsed by his casual violence, some dark, shameful part of me had been fascinated by it.

“Whatever you say, sorella,” Giuseppe said, his grin widening as he leaned back in his chair. “Just remember—guy’s got a body count higher than your shoe collection.”

Their laughter followed me as I left the kitchen, echoing in the hallway and chasing me up the stairs.

My bedroom felt like a sanctuary, quiet and still, but even here, Dante lingered, a shadow in the corners of my mind. My ruined Valentino dress still hung in the bathroom, the bloodstains stark against the pale fabric, a reminder of everything I wanted to forget.

Sinking onto my bed, I pulled out my phone, the screen glowing in the dim light. My thumb hovered for a moment before typing his name into the search bar.

Headlines filled the screen, each one worse than the last.Ruthless. Dangerous. A man to be feared.

I stared at the words, my stomach twisting. That’s what he was: a man to be feared, not desired.

So why couldn’t I stop thinking about the way his voice softened when he said my name?

Chapter 6

Emilia

The numbers on my computer screen blurred together as I tried to focus on the quarterly reports. The office hummed with its usual Monday morning activity—keyboards clicking, phones ringing, hushed voices discussing deals—but my mind kept drifting back to the yacht. To hushed conversations about missing money, to the sharp crack of a gunshot, to dark eyes studying me over blood-stained crystal.

This was supposed to be my domain, the one part of the Ricci empire where I could pretend I had some semblance of control. Real estate holdings were my family’s cleanest business, the front-facing operation that kept up appearances. We owned everything from luxury high-rises to shopping centers, sprawling estates to discreet properties that never made it onto public records. I managed it all—leases, deals, acquisitions. On paper, I was the Ricci family’s golden child, the one who kept her hands clean.

In reality? I knew just how dirty our business could get.

The discrepancies I’d overheard on the yacht weren’t new. Properties going missing, money funneled through shell companies, invoices that didn’t match the actual work being done. It was all part of the game, but last night had made it clear just how far the stakes could go. Mario had bled out because of it. And Dante—Dante had pulled the trigger without hesitation.

"Miss Ricci?" My assistant’s voice made me jump. Shestood hesitantly in the doorway, holding a stack of files. "The Anderson contract needs your signature."

"Right." I blinked at the papers she held out, trying to force my mind back to work. "Just leave them on my desk."

She hesitated, her grip tightening on the folder. "They’re time-sensitive..."

"I said leave them." The words came out sharper than intended, making her flinch.

"Of course," she muttered, quickly setting the papers down before scurrying away.

I sighed, pressing my fingers to my temples in an attempt to ward off the headache brewing behind my eyes. Sleep had been elusive last night, my dreams filled with gunshots and Dante’s dark, relentless gaze. The way he had wiped blood from my face with such calm precision, his hands lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle.

The conversation I’d overheard before Mario’s death replayed in my mind, fragments of words circling like vultures. Something about real estate holdings. Discrepancies in the books. Missing money.

Was it one of our properties?

I wasn’t naive enough to think all of our real estate dealings were legitimate. Some properties were just fronts, others used to launder money or store shipments that couldn’t go through the ports. I’d always told myself I wasn’t involved in that side of the business, that my job was clean. But last night had reminded me just how thin that line was.

The office door flew open with enough force to rattle the windows. I barely had time to look up before Dante filled the doorway like an approaching storm, his usual elegant composure replaced by barely contained fury.

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