Page 112 of Gilded Saint

“Is it over?”

“It’ll never be over. At least, as long as countries distrust each other, intelligence gathering will occur.”

“How is it not over if you’re?—”

“My tour is over.” I open my mouth, full of questions, but he places a finger over my lips. “I’m no longer a part of the operation. That’s all you need to know.”

“You’re still worried we might be in danger?”

“I’ll probably always worry. At least for the next couple of decades.” He presses his lips to my forehead and muses, “I’ve seen the worst in humanity. Power and greed lend justification to vile acts. Many criminals have no option other than prosecution. But with a certain level of wealth, options exist. And if faced with losing everything…”

“They do bad things.”

“Yes.”

“My father isn’t a dangerous man.” I’ve seen the men who kill regularly, mostly the ones who keep businesses safe and members in line. My father isn’t anything like them. Interestingly, the brutal men are the workhorses and rank lower in the organization.

“Few men are truly evil. Most men possess morals, but ethics vary. Your father is better than most. He grew up in a criminal organization, but he runs a mostly legitimate, global business.”

“My father doesn’t like… He didn’t want us touching drugs. He once told me there’s been a market for drugs for centuries and there always will be. That what our family does is bring discipline to the market and safety to our communities.”

“Some criminal organizations are more successful than others at maintaining peace.”

The skin on his outer arm has a lighter tone and is slightly raised in an uneven pattern, something that’s more noticeable with his tanned skin. I run my fingers over the area. “Were you injured here?”

“I had a tattoo. Had it removed.” He grins, glancing at the area fondly as if he can still see what he’d once had inked on his skin.

“Why?”

“It’s not a good idea to have an easily identifiable marking. Especially one that screams U.S. Navy.”

I bend and press my lips to the area, kissing both his skin and the starched hem of his shirt.

“What was it of?”

“A frog.”

I crinkle my nose, and he laughs.

“Yeah, my sister didn’t like it too much either.”

“Were you drunk?”

“Pretty sure I would’ve failed a sobriety test.” He caresses my cheek. His grin has settled into a relaxed, warm expression. With each day that has passed, our bodies have healed, and I’m sure that’s partly responsible, but it’s also like he’s letting Leo the syndicate member go, and he’s remembering who he was. Who he is.

The sun sparkles over the water, and it’s a nearly perfect day with calm, rolling waves, but an exhaust smell circulates in the air where we’re standing.

“Want to go sit?” We’re on the lowest deck, but the higher one is free of the engine’s smell.

“Sure.” He links his fingers through mine, leading me to the narrow stairs. He steps aside and lets me pass.

On this deck, there’s a curved white sofa that looks behind the boat. A circular table fits perfectly in front of the sofa, and there’s a hidden panel which can pull out to turn the sofa into an oversized lounge chair. Sam bends to adjust it for us, and the door behind us slides open.

One of the crew, a woman named Marta, exits and takes over. Thomas follows, arms full of thick white towels, and they set up the area for us.

“Would you care for anything to drink?”

“Iced water with lime,” I say. “Thank you.”

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