Page 12 of Gilded Saint

“He did.”

Ah, a man. He’d probably been taken in by her innocence. “Why not call up to the room?”

“You didn’t answer, and…I couldn’t risk being seen.”

I narrow my eyes. “By whom?”

She swallows. “Anyone.” She pulls the drapes closed. When she turns, faint bruising along her neck shows. The bruising will likely be darker tomorrow.

“Are you hiding from that man?”

She tucks her hair behind her ear, then bites her thumbnail. I haven’t seen anyone bite her nails since… ah, I can’t think about them. I need to deal with this and get some shuteye.

“Are you gonna speak? Surely there’s a reason you broke into my room. Which, how did you know where I’m staying?” Three drinks and my brain isn’t as sharp. I’m getting too fucking old.

She drops her hand from her mouth and wipes her palms on the front of her dress. She turns, passes me, and sits on the end of the bed, feet flat on the floor, dress spilling over her legs, making her look like one of Sloane’s china dolls stored on a shelf. Her hair is wild and uncombed, just like one of Sage’s dolls. I should not be thinking of my sisters.

“I have a proposition for you.”

I pause, unsure I heard her, and bite back a smirk. This, I did not see coming.

“Baby doll, this might surprise you after what happened out on the beach, but there are men in this world who believe you are too young for them.”

Her cheeks flush. In this light, it’s clear she dyes her hair blonde. Black roots deepen the color along her center part. There’s something about the switcheroo, from blonde to black, that appeals to me. Or maybe it’s simply the overall aesthetic. She could shave her head, and her natural beauty would shine through.

“That’s… What I’m going to propose might sound crazy. It is crazy.” She fists the edge of the comforter, holding on as if she’s at risk of falling off the bed. She’s scared, but she’s got balls. She’s here. That deserves admiration and a second to hear her out.

“Go on.” I hope my southern twang calms the girl. Sometimes it works, but I haven’t tried the good ol’ boy dialect in Italy. It might make it impossible to understand me.

“That man, the one from tonight, his name is Leandro, and he’s a psychopath.”

“Leandro De Luca. Massimo’s brother?” I knew the fucker looked familiar.

“Yes. He’s cruel. To animals, to women.” I nod, as he probably would’ve raped her if I hadn’t come along, but I need her to get to the reason for breaking into my room. Does she want me to kill him? Did someone tell her I’m an assassin?

“And, well, I know it’s crazy, and I don’t know why, but apparently, he wants to marry me, and my brother, Orlando—you met him—he thinks Papa will agree, which is crazy because these are modern times, and I should have choices. I am college educated. I should have options, but I don’t. If I leave, they’ll find me.”

Who told her I’m an assassin? How did I go from arms dealer to assassin?

“And, well, it’s my understanding that you are a homosexual.”

Come again?She’s staring at the ground and keeps rambling.

“I could be your beard. You could save me from having to marry him, and I could make you more presentable around the world. You know. When you go out there selling bombs and guns and whatever arms dealers sell.”

Her words blur together, and I swear I get a little dizzy. How many glasses did I drink down at the bar?

A fist pounds on the door to my suite, and Willow jumps.

“You expecting anyone?”

She shakes her head. The terror in those eyes…Fuck, I hate seeing that in a girl so young.

“Leo. Open up.” Whoever is at the door sounds pissed. “I know my daughter’s in there.”

You have got to be fucking kidding me. I twist my head, perplexed.

There’s a gold locket around her neck, and it all clicks.

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