Page 98 of Made for Saints

Dante’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. His hand dropped from my back, his posture stiffening as he turned to face Romero. The warmth I’d felt from him just moments ago vanished, replaced with a cold, lethal energy that sent a shiver down my spine. His dark eyes sharpened, narrowing into slits, and his lips curved into a dangerous, razor-thin smile.

“Romero,” Dante said, his tone calm, but the kind of calm that made my stomach tighten. “I thought I told you to stay away.”

Romero shrugged, unbothered by the storm brewing in Dante’s voice. He took a lazy sip of his champagne, his smirk dripping with arrogance. “What can I say? I have a weakness for beauty,” he said, his gaze flicking to me, lingering far too long. “And Emilia...well, she’s exceptional. A shame to see her wasted on someone like you.”

Heat flushed my cheeks, a mix of anger and mortification clawing at me. But before I could say anything, Dante stepped forward, his body a wall of tension, cutting off Romero’s view of me entirely. The air around us seemed to shift, heavy with barely restrained violence.

“Careful,” Dante said, his voice low, ice-cold and precise. “Say one more word, and I’ll make sure it’s your last.”

Romero chuckled, though I noticed his fingers tighten slightly on the stem of his glass. “Relax, Dante. No need to get so worked up. I’m just admiring her beauty. No harm in that.”

That word—admiring—felt like a slap in the face. Theimplication in his tone, the way his eyes lingered on me like I was a piece of art for him to dissect, made my skin crawl. Around us, I could feel the stares of the other guests, their curiosity buzzing like static in the air. My chest tightened, and I swallowed hard. This was exactly what I didn’t want—a scene.

“Dante, stop,” I said sharply, stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm. His muscles were coiled tight, like a spring ready to snap, and I could feel the dangerous energy radiating beneath his skin, barely contained. “He’s not worth it.”

For a moment, I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me. His gaze stayed locked on Romero, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides as if he were seconds away from shattering the champagne glass in Romero’s hand—or worse. The tension in the room was suffocating, and I could feel the weight of every single pair of eyes watching him, waiting for him to break.

Then, slowly, Dante exhaled. His shoulders relaxed, though only slightly, and he turned his head just enough to glance at me. His voice was cold, clipped, and utterly final. “You’re right,” he said. “He’s not.”

With that, he turned, his hand finding the small of my back once more as he guided me away from Romero and the prying eyes of the crowd. I could feel the weight of their stares trailing after us, heavy and intrusive.

I pulled away abruptly, stepping out of his reach. “I need to use the bathroom,” I said quickly, hoping to put some space between us.

He moved as if to follow, but I stopped him with a sharp glare. “I don’t need an escort,” I hissed, my voice low but firm.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Five minutes,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Then I’ll come find you.”

I shook my head, letting out a sharp breath, and turned on my heel, weaving through the crowd without looking back. My heart was pounding, my skin prickling with the weight of everything unsaid.

God, why did he always have to do this? Why did he have to suffocate me, to step in like I couldn’t handle myself?

But the worst part—the part I couldn’t ignore—was the gnawing feeling in my chest. The way he’d put himself between me and Romero without hesitation, like I wasn’t just something to protect but something he had to protect. Whether I liked it or not. Whether I wanted him to or not.

I stepped into the quiet of the hallway, the sounds of the party muffled behind me. I needed a moment to breathe, to think. But as I leaned against the cool wall and closed my eyes, the only thing I could feel was him. The weight of his hand on my back, his voice in my ear…

And the way he’d looked at Romero like he was ready to burn the world down if it meant keeping me safe.

Chapter 32

Emilia

The hallway stretched out before me, dimly lit and eerily quiet compared to the bustling ballroom I’d just escaped. My heels clicked softly against the marble floor, the sound echoing faintly as I made my way toward the bathroom. My breath came in shallow bursts, my chest tight with a mix of embarrassment and anger. Dante’s words still rang in my ears, his possessive declaration wrapping around me like a vice.

“You’re mine, Emilia. And I will protect what’s mine.

I hated how those words made me feel. Hated the way they sent a shiver down my spine, the way they lingered in my chest like a secret I wasn’t ready to admit. He was impossible—infuriating, overbearing, and maddeningly addictive. And now, thanks to him, I was the center of attention in a room full of people who thrived on gossip.

I turned a corner, the noise of the party fading further into the background, and exhaled sharply, trying to steady myself. The dagger strapped to my thigh shifted slightly with each step, a silent reminder of the man who had insisted I carry it. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to touch the hilt just to reassure myself it was still there.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me until it was too late.

“Emilia,” a voice called, smooth and familiar, and my stomach dropped.

I froze in place, my hand instinctively reaching for the wall to steady myself. The hallway was dimly lit, the faint hum of music and laughter from the party barely filtering through the thick walls. Slowly, I turned, my heart sinking as I saw Romero standing a few feet away, his dark eyes glinting with something that made my skin crawl.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended, though the tremor in it betrayed me.

Romero’s lips curved into a slow, lazy smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. “I just wanted to apologize for earlier,” he said, his tone feigning sincerity. “It seems I may have...overstepped.”

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