Page 71 of Made for Saints

“So,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “What’s new with you? Any handsome strangers sweeping you off your feet?”

I snorted, shaking my head. “Hardly. My life’s been...complicated lately.”

Her expression softened, and she reached out to squeeze my hand. “You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is,I’m here.”

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. I wanted to tell her everything—to spill the truth about Dante, about the way he made me feel, about the rumors that clung to him like shadows. But the thought of saying it out loud made my stomach twist.

Instead, I forced a smile and changed the subject. “How’s Michael? Are you ready for the big day?”

Adrianna’s face lit up, her excitement contagious as she launched into a detailed account of her wedding plans. She spoke quickly, her words tumbling over one another as if she couldn’t possibly get them out fast enough. The flowers, the venue, the dress—it was clear she’d already envisioned every moment in her head, and I found myself smiling despite the storm brewing in my chest.

But then her tone softened, her excitement giving way to something quieter, something more personal. “I know what we talked about before the engagement but...” she said, trailing off, her gaze dropping to her hands as she absently twisted the engagement ring on her finger. The diamond caught the light, sparkling brilliantly, but she didn’t seem to notice. “An arranged marriage, right? It’s old-fashioned. Outdated. Everyone assumes I’m miserable about it.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but she shook her head, cutting me off. “But I’m not,” she said firmly, lifting her eyes to meet mine. “Michael...he’s good to me. He’s kind, thoughtful, and he listens—really listens. He’s not like some of the men we grew up around, you know? He doesn’t treat me like I’m just...an accessory.”

Her lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, and for a moment, she looked younger, more carefree. “I didn’t think I’d be happy with this. I mean, who dreams about their parents choosing their husband for them? But Michael’s...he’s different. He’s steady. And he makes me feel safe.”

I watched her as she spoke, the sincerity in her voice making my chest tighten. There was no hesitation, no flickerof uncertainty in her expression. She wasn’t just trying to convince herself—she truly believed what she was saying.

“I’m actually looking forward to it,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly. “The wedding, I mean. Starting a life with him. It’s not what I imagined growing up, but it feels...right.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. Adrianna, with her soft smile and hopeful eyes, was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in my own life. She seemed so sure, so grounded, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy.

“That’s...really great, Adrianna,” I said finally, my voice quieter than I intended. “I’m happy for you.”

Her smile widened, and she reached out to squeeze my hand. “Thanks, Em."

“Speaking of weddings,” I said casually, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Do you know anything about Dante’s...situation? The woman he was arranged to marry?”

Adrianna’s smile faltered, and she set her drink down, her fingers tracing the rim of the glass. “Isabella Romano,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter now. “That’s who he was supposed to marry.”

I leaned in, my heart pounding. “What happened?”

Adrianna hesitated, glancing around as if to make sure no one was listening. “A friend of Michael’s brother told me some things,” she said, her voice barely audible over the music. “Apparently, there was a shootout. Dante...he didn’t protect her. He told his men to hold off, and she…”

She trailed off, her eyes flicking to mine, and I felt a cold knot of dread settle in my stomach.

“She died?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Adrianna nodded, her expression grim. “It’s not just a rumor, Emilia. People say she disrespected him somehow, that she preferred vodka.. and that’s why he didn’t save her.”

“Preferred vodka?”The Russians.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “And you believe that?”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Adrianna admitted, hergaze dropping to her drink. “But I do know this—Michael’s brother saw her with Dante a few times. Once at Christmas, once when she was trying to run away from him, and once…”

She hesitated, her voice trailing off.

“Once when?” I pressed, my chest tightening.

Adrianna looked up, her eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite place. “At her open casket,” she said quietly.

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My mind raced, piecing together the fragments of the story, and the sudden image of Dante standing over an open casket sent a shiver down my spine.

I pushed my drink away, the nausea rising in my throat. “I need to go,” I said abruptly, sliding off the stool.

Adrianna reached out, grabbing my arm before I could leave. Her brow furrowed in concern as she studied me carefully. “Wait. Emilia, what’s going on?”

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