Page 41 of Made for Saints

I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him he was being ridiculous, but the words wouldn’t come. Because deep down, some part of me knew he wasn’t entirely wrong. Eric’s harmless flirtation had been just that—harmless—but in our world, even the smallest misstep could ripple outward in ways I couldn’t predict.

“You’re overreacting,” I said finally, though the defiance in my voice felt hollow. “Eric isn’t a threat. He’s just...nice.”

Dante’s jaw tightened, his grip on the desk flexing slightly. “Nice doesn’t mean safe, Emilia. And you’d do well to remember that.”

I hated the way my name sounded on his lips—like a warning, like a promise. I hated the way he made me feel, like I was teetering on the edge of something I couldn’t control. And most of all, I hated that some part of me didn’t want him to stop.

“Are we done here?” I asked, my tone sharper than I felt. “Because I have work to do.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stared at me, his dark eyes boring into mine as if he couldsee every thought, every secret I tried to bury. Then, slowly, he straightened, stepping back just enough to let me breathe again.

“We’re done,” he said, his tone clipped. “For now.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps deliberate and unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world. The tension that had been suffocating the room didn’t leave with him; it lingered, thick and heavy, wrapping around me like a second skin.

I sank back into my chair, my legs trembling beneath me, and let out a shaky breath. My pulse was still racing, and my hands, clutching the edge of the desk, wouldn’t stop trembling.

I hated the way he made me feel, the way his words lingered in my mind like a command I couldn’t ignore. The jealousy in his tone, the possessiveness in his gaze—it should have made me furious. Itdidmake me furious. And yet…

Yet, it also made my stomach twist in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

I knew I should have been repulsed by him, by the way he had loomed over me, by the way he had spoken as if I belonged to him. But instead, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hand had gripped the desk beside me, caging me in without ever touching me. The sheer force of his presence was intoxicating, overwhelming, and it left me wanting more even as I tried to convince myself I didn’t.

Dante was tall, dark, and handsome in the most maddening way possible. Everything about him—from the sharp cut of his jaw to the cold glint in his eyes—radiated danger. And yet, it wasn’t just his looks that made him impossible to ignore.

It was the way hecommandeda room, the way his voice could drop to a low, deliberate whisper that made my skin prickle. It was the way he looked at me, like It was the way he looked at me, like he already owned me, yet still wanted more.. It was the way his jealousy burned so hot, so unrestrained, that it left me breathless.

And God help me, I liked it.

Hours later, when the workday finally ended, I gathered my things and headed for the door, eager to escape the suffocating tension of the office. But as I stepped outside, I found Dante waiting for me, leaning casually against a sleek black Aston Martin DBX.

Of course.

“I already have a ride,” I said, not bothering to hide my irritation.

“Not tonight,” he said, opening the passenger door with a flourish. “Get in.”

I hesitated, my gaze flicking to the car and then back to him. “Why?”

“Because I said so,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And because your father would skin me alive if I left and let anything happen to you.”

I rolled my eyes but climbed into the car, the leather seats cool against my skin. Dante slid into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life as he pulled out onto the street.

The silence between us was thick, the air heavy with unspoken words. I stared out the window, watching the city blur past, but I couldn’t ignore the way my body tensed every time he shifted gears, the way his presence filled the confined space.

“It’s beautiful,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “The car, I mean.”

Dante glanced at me, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “You like it?”

I shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. “It’s nice. I’ve always wanted to drive myself places, but...well, you know how that goes.”

His smirk faded, replaced by something softer, almost thoughtful. “Maybe one day.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stayed quiet, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my skirt. The tension between us was suffocating, and I hated the way it made myheart race, the way it made me hyper aware of every breath, every movement.

“So,” Dante said after a moment, his tone casual but laced with something darker. “You and the delivery guy. Should I be worried?”

I turned to him, my eyes narrowing. “This again?”

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