Page 13 of Gilded Saint

“Is that necklace a tracker?”

Her fingers clutch the locket and her eyes widen. I’d tell her to hide in the bathroom, but there’s really no fucking point. Her father clearly knows she’s here, either because she’s got a tracker on her or she purposefully led him here.

The pounding gets louder.

I narrow my eyes at her.What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

“How old are you?” If she says anything lower than eighteen… I grit my teeth, waiting.

“Twenty-one. Twenty-two in a week.”

“Willow. I know you’re in there.”

I glance at the door. “I’ve got to let him in.”

“Please.” Her plea is breathy, filled with desperation.

“I’m around two decades older than you.” But as I say it, I realize it’s all relative because Leandro must be forty years older.

The pounding at the door halts and other male voices mix in. The hotel staff must’ve been called.

I feel for the girl, but she’s latched on to the wrong guy to get her out of a shit situation. Technically, I don’t exist.

My boots pound on the floor as I approach the door, much like my fucking mood. All I wanted was to get a little buzzed and crash.

I sling the door open. Sweat beads across Alessio’s forehead and red tinges his flesh. A skinny kid in shorts and a t-shirt stands at his side with a sheepish expression. It’s the kid from earlier on the beach.

Two uniformed hotel employees stand on the other side of Alessio. “Sir, Mr. Gagliano needs to see you. I would appreciate it if you could keep the noise down out of consideration for our guests?—”

My phone rings in my back pocket. When I reach for it, the hotel employee glimpses the gun in my other hand.

“We don’t want any issues,” the employee stammers.

Alessio pushes past me, ignoring the men.

“It’s fine. I promise you, there won’t be any issues.” I hold the door for Orlando, who appears far too pale for a teenager living in the Mediterranean. “Come on in. I’ve got to take this.”

I hold up my phone and slide to answer before it goes to voice mail. It’s Nick, and he doesn’t do well if his call isn’t answered.

“Can I call you back?” I mutter as Orlando slinks past me into the room. I shut the door on the two bewildered employees.

“What is this?” Alessio shouts.

“Mate?” Nick asks, clearly confused as fuck.

“You have my daughter in your hotel room?” Alessio’s livid. Possibly rightfully so, but if she’s twenty-two…or almost twenty-two…Jesus I hope she told me the truth about her age.

“I have a situation,” I say to the phone.

“Sounds like it.”

I hold up a hand and add a stern glare. This man will not intimidate me. I am not at fault here. He can handle his daughter.

“I’m going to take this call. Your daughter can explain what’s she’s doing here.” I pointedly scowl at the two of them and slip into the en suite bathroom where I can close the door.

“Sleeping with a mafia member’s daughter isn’t the smartest move, mate.”

“I didn’t sleep with anyone,” I bite out, loud enough I hope Alessio hears me. “What’s up?”

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