Page 26 of Made for Saints

I clenched my fork tightly, heat rising to my cheeks. “If it’s about the real estate company, then yes, I do need to worry about it. That’s my domain.”

“You’re overthinking,” Giuseppe chimed in, his grin infuriatingly smug. “It’s nothing serious. Just some...irregularities. Father’s already handling it.”

Irregularities. The word hung in the air, vague enoughto keep me guessing but heavy enough to make my stomach twist. I’d been noticing small discrepancies for months—minor errors in the accounts, amounts that didn’t quite add up. But I’d brushed them off, assuming they were simple mistakes. Now, I wondered if I’d been wrong.

“What kind of irregularities?” I pressed, looking to my father.

His expression didn’t change, but the sharpness in his eyes made it clear I was treading dangerous ground. “Emilia,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge, “just focus on your job. That’s all I need from you.”

“Why can’t she know?” Marco said, leaning back in his chair with a sneer. “She’s always so eager to prove herself. Let her take a crack at it.”

Tony laughed under his breath, but our father silenced them both with a single look. “This isn’t up for discussion,” he said, his tone final. He turned back to me, his expression unreadable. “If I need your help, I’ll ask for it. Until then, leave it to me.”

I swallowed my frustration, forcing myself to nod. “Understood.”

The conversation shifted after that, but I couldn’t shake the unease settling over me. I’d been dismissed, shut out, but I wasn’t blind. Something was wrong, and it was bigger than they wanted to admit. And if it was connected to the real estate company, then it was only a matter of time before I found myself tangled in it—whether they wanted me to or not.

As I sat there, pretending to listen to my brothers bicker, my thoughts kept circling back to Dante. His name had been brought up, even if no one had explicitly said why. He was tied to this somehow, and that alone was enough to make me uneasy. For all his charm and calculated ruthlessness, Dante wasn’t the kind of man who got involved unless there was something worth his time.

The afternoon’s sun was relentless, beating down on the patio and turning the stone tiles into a griddle. I decided tospend the rest of the day by the pool, hoping the sunlight would burn away the lingering frustration from the morning’s conversation.

Reclining on a lounge chair, I let the warmth seep into my skin, the faint scent of chlorine and sunscreen mingling in the air. The rhythmic sound of water lapping against the pool’s edge was almost hypnotic, and for a moment, I felt the tension in my body begin to ease. The world narrowed to the sun on my face, the heat licking at my skin, and the faint hum of cicadas in the distance.

But, of course, peace never lasted long in my world.

I sensed him before I saw him—the shift in the air, the way the sunlight dimmed as his shadow stretched across me. My eyes fluttered open, and there he was, Dante Conti, standing over me like he owned the place.

He wasn’t wearing his usual suit today, but somehow, the plain white T-shirt and dark jeans made him look even more effortlessly powerful. The fabric clung to his broad shoulders and chest, and the casual attire made him seem more dangerous, not less. Like a predator who didn’t need to dress up to instill fear—or command attention.

“Move,” I said flatly, shielding my eyes from the sun as I squinted up at him.

Instead of moving, he smirked, his lips curling just enough to make my blood boil. “That’s not very polite.”

I didn’t bother responding. Instead, I raised my hand and flipped him off, my middle finger standing proudly between us.

Dante chuckled, the sound low and rich, vibrating in the air between us. “You know,” he said, leaning in slightly, his shadow swallowing me whole, “I really should send a thank-you gift to whoever taught you how to do that.”

“Why are you here?” I snapped, sitting up and glaring at him. My irritation grew with every second he stood there, radiating smugness.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pulled a manilaenvelope from behind his back and held it out to me. “This is for your father,” he said, his tone shifting to something more serious. “Make sure he gets it.”

I stared at the envelope but didn’t take it right away. “What’s in it?”

“None of your business,” he replied, his voice firm, his dark gaze daring me to argue. “And don’t eventhinkabout opening it.”

I rolled my eyes but finally snatched the envelope from his hand, tossing it onto the small table next to me. “Anything else? Or are you done playing errand boy?”

Dante’s gaze swept over me, his eyes lingering longer than they should have, and his expression darkened ever so slightly. His jaw tightened for a moment before his lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“If you were mine,” he murmured, his voice low and simmering with a dangerous edge, “and you wore something like that around other men, I wouldn’t stop at just looking. I’d pull those tiny little bottoms down and redden your ass until you remembered exactly who you belong to.”

The heat of the sun was nothing compared to the fire his words lit beneath my skin. My cheeks flamed, a mix of fury and something far more dangerous coursing through me. I tilted my chin up, forcing my glare to meet his. “Good thing I’d never belong to you,” I said, my voice steady, though my pulse betrayed me with its frantic rhythm.

Dante’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with amusement and something darker. “For now,” he said simply, his tone dripping with confidence, like he was stating a fact rather than teasing.

And then he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me sitting there, fuming and flushed.

I watched him go, my eyes trailing over the broad lines of his shoulders as he strode back toward the house, completely unbothered by the chaos he left in his wake. My heart pounded in my chest, and I hated how much space he took up in myhead. He was infuriating, arrogant, and far too perceptive for my liking.

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