Page 89 of Made for Saints

“Left her to die?” he finished for me, his tone dry. “Because people love a good story. And in our world, the truth is never as interesting as the lies.”

I stared at him, trying to reconcile the man sitting beside me with the cold, ruthless figure the rumors had painted. It wasn’t easy. Dante was still an enigma, a puzzle with too many missing pieces, but there was something about the way he said it—so matter-of-fact, so unbothered—that made me believe him.

"They say you left her to die in a shoot out."

"No, Isabella's sister died in the shoot out because the Calabrese family does not care about their women. Contis? We care."

“And the other one?” I asked, not letting him know how much that line got to me.

Dante’s lips twitched, and for a moment, I thought he might actually laugh. “What about her?”

“You were engaged to her, right?” I pressed, leaning slightly toward him. “What happened there?”

He sighed, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “Valentina was...complicated.”

“Complicated how?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Like, ‘she had a thing for Russians’ complicated?”

That got his attention. Dante’s head snapped toward me, his dark eyes narrowing. “Who told you that?”

“Adrianna,” I said quickly, raising my hands in mock surrender. “She mentioned something about your fiance preferring vodka, and I just assumed…”

Dante let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Vodka? That’s one way to put it.”

“So it’s true?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“Let’s just say Valentina had...connections,” he said carefully, his tone measured. “Connections that didn’t align with mine. Or my family’s.”

I frowned, trying to piece it together. “You’re saying shewas working with the Russians?”

“Not exactly,” Dante said, his voice dropping. “But she wasn’t loyal to us, either. And that was a…problem.”

I sat back, the implication clear. There wasn’t room for divided loyalty, for half-measures. Valentina had made her choice, and Dante had made his.

“Is that why you broke it off?” I asked, my voice softer now.

Dante’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Let’s just say Valentina and I had...different priorities in a relationship.”

The way he said it—calm, detached—made my chest tighten. I wanted to ask more, to dig deeper, but something in his expression warned me not to push.

Instead, I leaned back in my seat, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. “So, what’s she doing now? Running a vodka empire?”

Dante snorted, the sound surprisingly warm. “Hardly. Last I heard, she was shacked up with some hedge fund manager in New York. Probably driving him insane.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the image, the tension between us easing just slightly. “Sounds like she’s doing just fine.”

“Oh, I’m sure she is,” Dante said, his tone laced with amusement. “Valentina always lands on her feet. It’s one of her...many talents.”

The way he said it made me smile, but there was an undercurrent of something else in his voice—something darker, more complicated. I wanted to ask about it, to peel back the layers of his carefully constructed facade, but before I could, his phone buzzed in the cupholder.

Dante glanced at the infotainment screen, his brow furrowing slightly before he picked it up. “It’s Rafe,” he said, swiping to answer. “Don’t say anything stupid.”

I raised an eyebrow, watching as he put the phone on speaker.

“Brother!” Rafe's voice drawled through the car, laced withits usual mix of sarcasm and charm. “What are you doing this evening? The drinks are flowing at Marios”

“I need an update on Valentina,” Dante said bluntly, his tone all business.

There was a pause, the kind that stretched just long enough to make you wonder if the line had gone dead. Then Luca’s voice came back, dripping with mockery.

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