Page 29 of Made for Saints

My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my expression carefully blank, even as my pulse thudded in my ears. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, my voice steady despite the tension coiling in my chest.

Romero’s grin sharpened, like he enjoyed this game, like he enjoyed me trying to maintain my composure. He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as his gaze flicked around the room, ensuring no one else could hear.

“Oh, I think you do.” he said, his grin turning sly. “We both know how these things work. Your father’s been...considering options. And I’d like to think I’m at the top of the list.”

The implication hit me like a blow, and I felt a surge of panic rise in my chest. My father hadn’t mentioned anything about arranging a match for me, but Romero’s confidence made my stomach churn. The idea of being tied to someone like him—someone who saw me as a possession rather than a person—was unbearable.

“I think you’re mistaken,” I said, my voice sharp. “My father hasn’t mentioned anything of the sort.”

Romero chuckled, the sound low and oily, as his hand reached out and grabbed my arm. His touch was rough, it felt like a brand against my skin, making my stomach churn. “Oh, I’m sure he hasn’t. But these things have a way of working themselves out,” he said, his voice smooth, like he was explaining something obvious to a child. His dark eyes gleamed with a smug confidence that made my blood boil. “And when they do, you’ll see that I’m the perfect choice.”

I tried to jerk my arm away, my movements sharp and deliberate, my heart pounding in my chest. It took everything in me not to lash out, not to let him see how much he got under my skin. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice trembling with barely contained anger. “I need to find Adrianna.”

I turned, ready to walk away and put as much distance between us as possible, but before I could take a step, Romero moved in front of me, blocking my path. He smiled, sharp and predatory.

“Not so fast…”

Chapter 11

Emilia

“She said excuse me.”

The words sliced through the charged air, calm but carrying the weight of a threat. I froze, my breath catching as I turned to find Dante standing there. His expression was cold, carved from stone, and his dark eyes were locked onto Romero with a look sharp enough to cut.

The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. The easy confidence Romero had displayed moments ago evaporated, his smirk faltering as unease flickered across his face. He straightened slightly, like a predator trying to convince itself it wasn’t suddenly the prey.

“Dante,” Romero said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His voice lost some of its usual smoothness, a slight edge of nervousness creeping in. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Dante replied, his tone calm, almost conversational, but laced with a menace that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He took a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like a lion stalking its prey. “But now that you do, I suggest you step away from Ms. Ricci.”

The air between them crackled with tension, the kind that made everyone else in the room feel a little smaller, a little more insignificant. Romero’s smile wavered, his hand twitching slightly at his side as if debating whether to stay or retreat.

For a moment, no one moved, no one spoke. Dante didn’t need to raise his voice or make a scene—his presence alonewas enough to command the space. He stood tall, his tailored suit immaculate, his jaw tight, with the kind of authority that made it clear he wasn’t just asking. He was daring Romero to defy him.

Romero cleared his throat, his forced grin tightening. “Of course,” he said finally, taking a step back, though his gaze flicked to me one last time before he turned. “We’ll talk later, Emilia.”

“No, she won’t,” Dante said, his voice cold and final, cutting through the air like a blade.

Romero hesitated, his gaze darting between me and Dante. For a moment, I thought he might push back, but then he seemed to think better of it. With a forced laugh, he took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course,” he said, his grin faltering. “I was just making conversation.”

“Conversation’s over,” Dante said, his voice like steel. “Leave.”

Romero’s smile vanished, and without another word, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. The tension in my chest eased slightly, but my heart was still racing as I turned to face Dante.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice quieter now, unsure if I was thanking him for stepping in or for the strange sense of safety I suddenly felt in his presence.

Dante didn’t respond right away, his dark eyes scanning my face, slow and deliberate, as if searching for something I wasn’t sure I wanted him to find. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than I expected, almost gentle. “Stai bene?"

Are you all right?

I nodded, though the trembling in my hands betrayed me. “I’m fine.” My voice didn’t sound as convincing as I’d hoped. I rubbed my wrist, wincing slightly as I felt the tender marks already forming beneath the surface. “I had it handled.”

“Clearly.” His tone was dry, but his hand settled on my lower back, warm and steady through the thin silk of my dress. “Come with me.”

It wasn’t a request. Before I could protest, he was already steering me away from the bar, his grip firm but not forceful. As we moved, I could feel the weight of curious eyes following us, whispers rising like static in the background, but Dante didn’t seem to care—he never did. He guided me through a set of French doors that opened to a secluded garden terrace, the cool night air brushing against my heated skin.

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