Page 5 of Saint
“Your daughter has arrived, Governor Moore,” the maître d’ announces.
Dad turns, his familiar smile spreading across his face. But it’s the man rising to his feet beside him that catches my attention—tall, imposingly broad-shouldered, with dark hair silvering at the temples and the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He can’t be the mayoral candidate Dad mentioned. He’s too young, too... magnetic.
“Lily,” Dad says, standing to kiss my cheek. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I keep my voice steady and mature.
“Allow me to introduce Luca Ravello,” Dad says, gesturing to the stranger who now towers over both of us. “Luca, this is my daughter, Lily.”
Luca Ravello takes my offered hand, but instead of shaking it, he brings it to his lips in a gesture that should seem outdated but somehow doesn’t. His eyes never leave mine, and something in them—something darkly appreciative—makes my carefully constructed composure waver.
“Ms. Moore,” he says, his voice a deep baritone with the faintest hint of a Brooklyn accent beneath polished tones. “Your father speaks of you constantly, but his descriptions didn’t do you justice.”
“Do you mind if Mr. Ravello joins us for dinner? We haven’t finished our conversation yet.” My father seems uncharacteristically eager to please his friend.
I shake my head. “No, of course not. I don’t mind.” I’m suddenly delighted by Zoe’s makeup expertise, because I can feel heat creeping up my neck. “Mr. Ravello. I understand you’re running for mayor?”
His smile is slow, devastating. One corner of his mouth lifts higher than the other, revealing a flash of perfect white teeth against olive skin. “Please, call me Luca.” His voice rolls my name with a hint of gravel beneath the polish. “And yes, though your father is making me work for his endorsement.”
Dad laughs, the familiar sound suddenly jarring in this charged atmosphere. He pulls out my chair, the legs scraping softly against the polished floor. “Can’t make it too easy, can I?” His hand rests briefly on my shoulder, possessive. “Lily, Luca has some fascinating ideas about urban development. I thought you might be interested, given your studies.”
As I sit down, I catch Luca watching me with that same intense gaze, as if he’s trying to see beneath the sophisticated exterior to the real me. I straighten my shoulders, determined to project the confidence I’ve dressed for.
“I’d love to hear them,” I say, unfolding the crisp white napkin and placing it carefully across my lap, the heavy linen cool against my bare knees. I lean forward slightly, my Chanel dress shifting with a whisper of expensive fabric. “Especially your position on affordable housing for college students. The apartment I share with Zoe costs more than most people’s mortgages, and it’s barely bigger than my childhood bedroom. Manhattan rent is absolutely criminal.”
Luca’s smile widens, revealing perfect white teeth against his olive skin. One corner of his mouth lifts higher than the other, giving him a predatory edge that sends a strange electric thrill racing from my neck down to my fingertips. His eyes—deep blue like the ocean at midnight—never leave mine as he leans forward slightly, the expensive fabric of his tailored suit stretching across broad shoulders. “I couldn’t agree more, Lily,” he says, my name lingering on his tongue like something savored. “In fact, I have several proposals I think you’ll find... intriguing.”
As he speaks, the restaurant around us seems to recede—the clink of silverware, the murmur of conversations, even my father’s presence beside me fading to background noise. I realize with startling clarity that this dinner is going to be nothing like I expected. And for once, I’m not checking my watch or planningmy exit strategy or counting down the minutes until I can escape.
Chapter 4
Luca
I can’t takemy eyes off of her.
When Jackson invited me to dinner, I expected spreadsheets and policy talk, not the vice grip now tightening around my self-control. The girl sitting across from me toys with her pearl earring, unaware of how the restaurant’s dim lighting catches in her honey-brown hair, how it falls in soft waves past bare shoulders that rise from a black Chanel dress cut just low enough to make a man’s mouth dry. Her fingernails—short, unpolished, and oddly innocent—tap against crystal stemware while her wide eyes, the color of whiskey I’ve been drinking for longer than she’s been alive, occasionally flick up to meet mine. Her presence transforms this routine meeting into something dangerous.
“Tourism is up fifteen percent since last quarter,” Jackson says, spreading his manicured hands like he personally stood at JFK’s arrivals gate with a welcome banner for each visitor. “But we need to address the congestion issues in Midtown before the holiday season hits us like a freight train.”
I nod, murmuring something about infrastructure while my attention remains locked on his daughter like a heat-seeking missile. Lily sips her iced tea, beads of condensation slidingdown the crystal tumbler to pool around her slender fingers, leaving glistening trails across her porcelain skin. When she brings the glass to her lips, I’m transfixed by the way her plush mouth—painted the color of barely-ripe strawberries—closes around the black straw, the slight hollowing of her cheeks as she draws the liquid in, her throat working in a delicate ripple beneath skin so translucent I can trace the blue veins pulsing beneath.
“The hotel tax revenue could fund the infrastructure improvements,” I suggest, my voice steady despite the heat building under my collar. “My development team has a proposal that balances tourist appeal with resident quality of life.”
Jackson launches into his thoughts on tax allocation, his voice fading to white noise as Lily reaches for a calamari ring. Her slender fingers pinch the golden-fried circle, dipping it with deliberate slowness into the creamy sauce. She brings it to her mouth, parting those strawberry lips just enough to take a delicate bite. The crisp sound of her teeth breaking through the tender flesh sends a jolt straight to my groin. A pearl of aioli clings to her bottom lip, glistening under the candlelight like morning dew. She captures it with the tip of her pink tongue, a languid sweep that leaves a subtle sheen across her mouth. Her eyes flutter closed for just a moment—a silent expression of pleasure that makes my blood run hot.
Jesus Christ.
“What do you think, Luca?” Jackson asks, interrupting my inappropriate train of thought.
“I think your assessment is spot on,” I recover smoothly, having caught enough of his monologue to respond intelligently. “The subway extensions would certainly ease the Broadway district congestion.”
Lily shifts in her seat, leaning forward to reach for another appetizer. The movement causes her dress to pull taut across herchest, the black silk molding to the delicate curves beneath like a second skin. The shadowed valley between her breasts deepens, drawing my gaze like a magnet. They’re perfect—round, high, and undoubtedly firm beneath that whisper of expensive fabric. I imagine how they would feel against my palms, warm and yielding, the weight of them filling my hands as her rosy nipples pebble beneath my thumbs, her breath catching when I trace them with my tongue, tasting her skin like the finest champagne.
I’m going straight to hell.
“Lily’s professor actually wrote an interesting paper on urban mobility,” Jackson says proudly, straightening his monogrammed cuffs. “Tell Luca about it, sweetheart.”
She looks up, caught off guard. A flush spreads across her cheeks like watercolor on expensive paper, blooming beneath her skin. I wonder if it extends down her neck, across her collarbone, to the swell of flesh barely contained by black Chanel?—
