Page 45 of Saint Valentine
I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with that information yet.
But I’d figure it all out.
And when I did, he’d fucking regret everything.
Chapter Twenty three
Aria
I stood outside the bedroom door Saint had locked himself behind, listening to him threaten Donato Valentine.
“Call off the fucking hit or…” I walked away from the door to finish exploring the small two-bedroom house. It was all frilly white and pink and smelled like roses and dust.
There was a picture of a dark-haired woman that Saint favored all over the place.
I traced one of the pictures held in a pretty gold frame with my finger. She was pale, with a prettier face and dark hair that hung down to her waist.
I heard Saint come stand behind me, then felt him. He wasn’t one for personal space. “This was my mother’s place,” he said. “Before she met him. My grandmother brought me here a few times before she got sick. She said it was a safe place for me. She tried to give me an out of the world I was born into. But I craved power, control, respect—everything my father gave me. He doesn’t know this place exists. I come here no more than once a month, I keep everything clean myself. Pay the bills.”
I turned to face him. He was still the same Saint I knew, but there was something different; there was something less hard about him, like this place made him different.
My pity for him was starting to turn into empathy.
He cleared his throat and straightened, pulling himself back together. The moment of quiet reflection passed as quickly as it had come.
"You were right. I am like the man who raised me, Aria. It’s deeper than blood, I realize that now that I know he’s not my actual father. But he raised me to rule, to be in control. I have to follow that path,” he said, that familiar edge creeping back into his voice. “And I need you. And in a way, you need me too. You’re strong, but not strong enough to handle this life alone, and despite what you thought, you’ll never be fully out because of who your father was and what you did to avenge him.”
“But I don’t want this life. I never did. Even when I was eight. I didn’t want it for you. I imagined saving you. You’d come live with me and my parents. This shit rots your soul. Don’t you want more than this? Don’t you want to be more than your father’s legacy? Than the man who raised you?”
He nodded. “Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking. I want my own legacy. I want people to tremble in fear when they hear my name. I want my kids and you to be safe—safe because people are so terrified of what I can do, what I will do. That’s what I want. And I’m willing to offer you a compromise to make you see things my way.”
“What’s the compromise?”
“I’ll let your friends go today. I’ll even give them money to start over, a fresh life. I’ll trust you to keep your word.”
“And if you let them go and I don’t marry you?”
His eyes darkened, a flash of something dangerous flickering in the depths of them. “Then you’ll watch them be dragged back. You’ll watch them suffer. And you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
“And if I stab you in your throat like I did your guard?” I challenged.
He sighed deeply, like I was getting on his nerves. “Take off my mother’s ring and give it to me.”
Saint leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her reaction.
I took a step back. “No.” The words came out of my mouth before I could even pretend.
He chuckled. “Exactly.”
His smirk pissed me off.
“That ring means something to you because I gave it to you. Whether you want to admit it or not.”
His smirk deepened, clearly enjoying reading me.
“That’s the thing with you, Aria,” he continued, his voice laced with quiet satisfaction. “You resist, and fight out of reflex, but you’re already bound to me. Have been since we were children.”
“You don’t think I knew you hired private investigators to dig into my life, asked about me. Why so inquisitive?”
