Page 58 of Gilded Saint

“Growing up, did people come home injured often?” he asks.

“Not in my home. My father never…but I heard stories. When I got older.” All it took was asking questions and listening, and the people around me shared plenty.

There’s pressure against my crown, as if he just kissed me.

“I’m not like that. Enforcing rules isn’t what I do. I’m a broker, but I have to be armed. And we have to be smart. That’s why we have security.”

“And Lina?”

“My friend’s sister.” He strokes my arm. “I wondered if you’d ask me about her. She has no idea what this world is. No idea that you’re related to the Italian mafia or what her brother is a part of. Thanks to him, she’s never worked a day in her life. She’s a clubber. Does shit on social media. Nick says she’s an influencer. I don’t grasp how that works, but Nick feeds her bad habits.”

“You don’t sound like you approve.”

“Nick gets frustrated with her, but it’s his own damn fault.”

I shift, and my leg drapes over his.

“She and I…we’ve never.” His fingers comb through my hair. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” His eyes narrow inquisitively. “She’s not what I envision as your type.”

“Hmm.” The shades are drawn, blocking the light. The sheets are cool, but his body is toasty. My eyelids grow heavier as the earlier adrenaline fades. “You would be correct. She’s not my type at all. Out of curiosity, what do you see as my type?”

I lick my lips and grin. My face is tucked flat against his chest, so he can’t see. “Me. I think I’m your type.”

“It seems you are correct.”

“A good thing for the arrangement, right?” I keep my tone purposefully light and playful. The last thing I want is to scare him away, or to earn a reprimanding reminder of our temporary status.

“You know, Willow, we don’t have to… Sex isn’t… I’d protect you no matter what. You know that, right? With or without sex.”

“I know. You’re a good man.”

He snorts. “You say that, and yet you thought I went out to kill.”

“You’re a good man to me.”

His chest rumbles and I expect him to argue, but whatever he’s thinking, he keeps it bottled inside.

My fingers trace his breastbone, settling over the rhythmic beating of his heart.

“If I’d known about your birthday, I would’ve ordered you a cake.”

“Twenty-two isn’t a big deal. Maybe to Taylor Swift, but not to most people.”

He chuckles. Then, with a low, pained groan, adds, “Jesus. Fucking twenty-two.”

Chapter20

Sam, aka Leo, aka Saint

“She’s still sleeping,” I say to Nick, mobile pressed to my ear, gaze latched on Willow’s perfect ass as she goes about pouring us coffee.

After a few hours’ sleep, I woke with a raging hard-on, all because of the nimble beauty prancing around the kitchen. Thankfully, she was more than receptive to my advances.

“I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

“Did you hear from Dante? Did he learn anything from the videos?”

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