Page 27 of Made for Saints

And yet, I couldn’t deny the pull he had over me, no matter how much I wanted to.

Once he was gone, I picked up the envelope and carried it inside, setting it on my father’s desk as instructed. But as I stood there in the quiet of his office, staring at the envelope, curiosity began to gnaw at me.

Dante had said not to open it, but he hadn’t said anything about looking around.

I glanced at the door, ensuring it was closed, before turning my attention to the room. My father’s office was pristine, every surface meticulously arranged, the air smelling faintly of leather and cigar smoke. It was the kind of room that practically screamed secrets, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was hiding beneath its perfectly polished exterior.

I started with the desk, rifling through drawers and papers, but everything seemed normal—contracts, ledgers, nothing out of the ordinary. My frustration grew as I moved to the bookshelves, running my fingers along the spines of leather-bound volumes and pulling a few out at random. Still, nothing.

Eventually, I gave up, slumping into the chair behind the desk. The office felt like a gilded cage, just like the rest of the house—a prison filled with secrets I wasn’t privy to. My gaze drifted back to the envelope sitting on the desk, taunting me with its presence.

I reached for it, my fingers brushing against the edge, but I hesitated. Opening it would be reckless, and if my father or Dante found out, the consequences wouldn’t be pretty.

With a sigh, I pushed it away and stood, leaving the office with a heavy sense of defeat. As I stepped into the hallway, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the envelope—and the man who delivered it—held answers to questions I wasn’t ready to face.

But one thing was clear: Dante Conti wasn’t just here to drop off messages. And I had a sinking feeling I was about to find out why.

Chapter 10

Emilia

The engagement party was in full swing by the time Adrianna and I arrived. The venue—a sprawling Italian villa nestled on the outskirts of the city—was decorated to perfection, with string lights draped across the gardens and tables adorned with white roses and gold accents. It was the kind of event that screamed wealth and tradition, a celebration meant to remind everyone of the power and prestige behind the union.

But as beautiful as it all was, the atmosphere felt suffocating.

Adrianna stood beside me, her expression carefully neutral as we surveyed the scene. She looked stunning in a deep emerald dress that hugged her curves, her dark hair swept into an elegant updo that framed her sharp, striking features. To anyone else, she could have been mistaken for one of the carefully curated decorations of the evening—flawless, poised, and perfectly in control. But I knew better.

We’d known each other since birth, our families intertwined by the strange, unspoken alliances of our world. Her father ran the Mancini family syndicate, another cornerstone of the Italian mafia, and Adrianna had been born into the same gilded cage I had. She hated it just as much, though she hid it better than I ever could. We’d grown up together, our childhoods filled with whispered secrets and shared rebellions against the rigid expectations placed on us.

When we turned eighteen, escape had seemed impossible—untilSt. Gabriel University.

It wasn’t just any college. St. Gabriel wasn’t listed in glossy brochures or celebrated in college rankings. You wouldn’t find it by accident, and no one stumbled across it on a road trip. It was an institution cloaked in secrecy, known only to those who belonged to the world of power and crime. The Bratva sent their heirs there. The cartel did, too. Even a few untouchable European dynasties. And, of course, the Italian mafia. St. Gabriel was where the next generation of leaders went to be forged. The only place where all the families had agreed the heirs would be safe.

The campus itself was shrouded in mystery, tucked away somewhere remote—no one ever gave directions, and no one ever needed to. You were sent there, and you didn’t ask questions. Gleaming marble halls, ivy-covered towers, and sprawling grounds that looked more like an old-world estate than a school—it was as beautiful as it was unnerving. To the outside world, it was just another elite private university. To us, it was something much more: a training ground.

Adrianna and I had gone together, our families insisting it was the only choice. For four years, St. Gabriel had been our illusioned escape, a place where the weight of family obligation felt lighter—if only by a fraction. We’d shared late-night study sessions and smuggled bottles of wine, laughing over professors who were probably on payrolls themselves and dreaming of lives unshackled by our last names.

But for all its beauty, St. Gabriel was a breeding ground for power, politics, and control. It was an ecosystem where alliances were forged over group projects and rivalries simmered beneath polite smiles. Who you sat with in the dining hall mattered. Who you partnered with in class could decide the trajectory of your future. Favors were traded like currency, and grudges formed there had a way of following you long after graduation.

Adrianna and I had always stuck together, watching carefully from the sidelines as the games of power played outaround us. We didn’t have the luxury of forgetting who we were, no matter how much we wanted to. The families never let us.

Now, we were back where we’d started—two daughters of powerful men, expected to play our roles to perfection. The dreams we’d whispered to each other in college felt farther away than ever, buried beneath the weight of family expectations and the relentless pull of duty.

And yet, sometimes, I wondered if St. Gabriel had prepared us for this in ways we hadn’t realized. All those years of watching the chess pieces move, of learning how to read the subtlest shifts in power, had taught us something valuable.

Because the games we’d once only observed were now ours to play.

I looked to my side and Adrianna’s stiff posture gave her away She didn’t want to be here any more than I did. Her eyes scanned the crowd, sharp and calculating, as if she were looking for something—or someone—to distract her from the reality of the evening.

“Do you think they’ll have you married off next?” she muttered under her breath, her lips barely moving as she kept her gaze fixed on the scene.

I snorted, grateful for her dry humor. “If they can find someone who can put up with me, maybe.”

Her lips curved into a small, wry smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Poor bastard, whoever he is.”

I glanced at her, taking in the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers clutched her champagne flute like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Adrianna had always been the stronger of the two of us—the one who could charm a room and hide her true feelings behind a perfectly crafted mask. But tonight, even she seemed to be struggling.

“You okay?” I asked softly, nudging her shoulder with mine.

---