Page 19 of Made for Saints

Dante tilted his head slightly, studying me. His hand came up again, brushing a strand of hair from my face, the gesture so deliberate it felt like a warning. “The money can be replaced.Trust cannot.”

My breath hitched as his fingers lingered near my temple, his touch infuriatingly gentle. I should have moved away, but I couldn’t. The air between us felt heavy, charged, as if the room itself was holding its breath.

“There’s always a cost, Emilia,” he said, his voice soft but laced with steel. “The question is whether you’re willing to pay it.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse roaring in my ears. “And what about you?” I asked, the words escaping before I could stop them. “What’s your price?”

His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, more like a shadow of amusement laced with warning. “You couldn’t afford it.”

His thumb brushed my lower lip, making my breath hitch. "Tell your father I'll be by the house later. We need to discuss some...discrepancies."

"What if he's not there?"

"He will be." Dante stepped back, breaking the spell of his proximity. "And Emilia?"

"What?"

"Wear something that isn't white. Just in case."

The threat should have chilled me, but all I felt was heat curling low in my stomach. I watched him stride out of my office, his usual grace restored now that he'd delivered his message.

Only when the door closed behind him did my breathing calm. My reflection in the window looked flushed, lips slightly parted where his thumb had touched them. I sent my father a text letting him know Dante had been by.

What the hell was wrong with me? The man was a killer, and clearly involved in something dangerous enough to warrant execution. I should be running in the opposite direction, not wondering what his hands would feel like on other parts of my body.

My phone buzzed – a text from my father asking aboutDante's visit. I stared at the screen, thinking about missing millions and bloody sunsets and the way Dante's eyes had darkened when I'd challenged him.

"Just business," I typed back, the lie sitting heavy in my stomach. Because whatever was happening between Dante and me, it felt like anything but business.

Chapter 7

Emilia

The kitchen's marble countertops gleamed in the evening light, reflecting the sunset that painted the sky outside in shades of pink and gold. I moved through the familiar space with practiced ease, gathering what I needed for my evening tea – a ritual that usually helped calm my nerves.

Usually being the operative word.

Tonight, every shadow made me jump, every footstep in the hallway sent my pulse racing.

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft clinking of a spoon against porcelain. The tea I was making had long since stopped steaming, but I kept stirring it anyway, letting the repetitive motion calm my nerves. The house was too still, the kind of silence that made you hyper aware of every creak and shuffle. It didn’t help that I knew he was here, somewhere in the house, waiting.

Dante.

The name alone sent a ripple of something I couldn’t quite name down my spine. Frustration? Fear? Intrigue? Probably all three. I didn’t want to think about him, but his presence was impossible to ignore. It was like he carried his own gravity, pulling everything—and everyone—into his orbit whether they wanted to be there or not.

The sound of footsteps behind me made me freeze. They were deliberate, unhurried, the kind of footsteps that didn’t belong to someone who had anything to prove. My pulsequickened even before I turned around.

"Chamomile?" Dante's voice was low, touched with amusement. "How...predictable."

I sighed, abandoning the spoon and reaching for the tea bag to toss it in the trash. The tea was ruined anyway, steeped too long and bitter. Just like my mood.

“Is this how you always make tea?” He leaned against the doorway. His dark eyes flicked to the counter, where the abandoned tea sat, before returning to me. “Because if it is, I’m starting to question your taste.”

I scowled, turning back to the counter to hide the flush creeping up my neck. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“And yet, here I am giving it anyway.” His voice was closer now, the deep timbre of it sending a shiver down my spine. I didn’t have to look to know he was standing behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him at my back.

“What do you want, Dante?” I asked, keeping my tone as steady as I could manage. “Shouldn’t you be in my father’s office, talking about...whatever it is you came here for?”

---