Page 34 of Made for Saints

“Nothing’s brought me low.” But even as I said it, my gaze betrayed me, drawn back to Emilia. She was laughing at something her brother had said, the sound carrying across the room like music.

“Sure. That’s why you nearly took Romero’s head off at the engagement party. Because you’re completely unaffected.”

The reminder of Romero’s hands on Emilia made something dark and possessive curl in my chest. “He needed to be reminded of his place.” As part of the Ricci syndicate, he was currently in attendance at this soiree. Something I vehemently was against, but my brothers ever the politicians insisted.

“His place?” Rocco laughed. “Or yours?”

I turned to face him fully, letting him see the danger in my eyes. “Do you have a point to make, or are you just enjoying the sound of your own voice?”

“Just making observations.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Like how you’ve barely looked at anyone else all night. Or how your hand keeps twitching toward your gun whenever someone gets too close to her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But I forced myself to relax my fingers, which had indeed been inching toward my weapon.

“No?” His smile was knowing. “Then I guess you won’t care that Romero’s been making inquiries about a marriage arrangement.”

The glass in my hand cracked before I realized I was gripping it too tightly. “What?”

“Thought that might get your attention.” Rocco plucked the damaged tumbler from my grasp. “Relax, cugino. Vincent may be ambitious, but he’s not stupid enough to tie his only daughter to that stronzo.”

“He better not be.” The words came out as more of a growl than I intended.

“And there it is.” Rocco’s expression turned serious, his teasing tone fading. “You can pretend all you want, but we both know you’re in deep. Question is: what are you going to do about it?”

What could I do? Emilia Ricci was off-limits for a dozen different reasons, not least of which was the investigation into her family’s finances. Getting involved with her would complicate an already delicate situation.

But even as I thought it, my body betrayed me, turning toward her like a flower seeking sun. She must have felt my attention because she looked up, meeting my gaze across the crowded room. Something electric passed between us, making my pulse jump.

“Nothing,” I said finally, tearing my eyes away from her. “I’m not going to do anything about it.”

Rafe snorted. “Right. Because you’re so good at ignoring what you want.”

“I’m good at doing what needs to be done.” I signaledfor another drink, needing the distraction. “The family comes first.”

“The family.” Rocco's voice turned mocking. “Is that what you tell yourself when you’re lying awake at night, thinking about her? That the family is more important than what you feel?”

I turned on him with barely contained violence. “Careful, cousin. Even you can push too far.”

But Rocco just laughed, acting immune to my threats after years of familiarity. “Save the scary act for someone who doesn’t remember you crying over skinned knees, cugino. We both know you’re not as cold as you pretend to be.”

He was right, damn him. The carefully constructed walls I’d built around myself seemed to crumble whenever Emilia was near. One look from her and I was back to being that boy who wanted things he couldn’t have, who felt too deeply for his own good.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel.” I drained my fresh whiskey in one burning swallow. “There are bigger things at stake.”

“There always are.” Luca’s voice softened slightly. “But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you’ve spent so long putting everything else first that you’ve forgotten how to want things for yourself.”

The truth in his words hit harder than any physical blow. I looked at Emilia again, unable to help myself. She was everything I shouldn’t want – a complication, a distraction, a potential weakness. But God help me, I wanted her anyway.

I needed to get a grip. This fixation on her was dangerous, something I couldn’t afford. There were bigger things at stake—business deals, alliances, the mole who was threatening the integrity of my operation. I couldn’t let myself be sidetracked by a woman, no matter how captivating she was.

And yet, as the night wore on, my thoughts kept drifting back to her. The way her fingers brushed against the stem of her wine glass, the way her lips curved when she smiled, the way she held her own in a room full of men whounderestimated her.

She was a Ricci, for God’s sake. Off-limits. Untouchable.

But that didn’t stop me from wanting her.

By the time dessert was served, I was ready to crawl out of my own skin. The tension in the room was suffocating, the weight of my own thoughts pressing down on me like a vice. I excused myself, retreating to the study under the guise of taking a phone call. The truth was, I just needed a moment to breathe.

The study was dim and quiet, the faint scent of leather and aged whiskey filling the air. I poured myself another drink, watching the amber liquid swirl in the glass before knocking it back in one go. It burned, but not enough. Not enough to chase her from my mind or cool the heat simmering beneath my skin.

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