Page 8 of Gilded Saint

She sniffles.

“You don’t need to be afraid. Not of me.” The moon is the only light source in this area, and shadows abound. “Can I walk you home?” She’s quiet, so I repeat myself in Italian.

“You don’t need to,” she answers in perfect English with a slight accent. Her fingers knead her throat.

“Did he strangle you?” I step closer, squinting to see better.

Child-like eyes glisten in the moonlight, full of tears. I’m not the police. I don’t need to know the specifics, but I need to know she’s okay.

“Let’s walk,” I say, backing up, giving her room, showing her I’m not another monster. “Where’s home?”

“I’m fine. I live close.”

She pushes off the wall and wraps her arms around her waist, head down. I follow from a distance. It’s got to be statistically unlikely she’d be attacked twice in one night, but I can’t help myself. It’s in my DNA to protect. I won’t sleep if I don’t see her home. She stoops along the stairs near the sand and picks up a pair of heels.

The old man must’ve seen her on the beach and attempted to force her into the alley. Or hell, who knows what he was thinking. Maybe he was going to rape and kill. There are sick fucks the world over.

We walk in silence, her shooting me side glances that make it clear she doesn’t trust me. I hang back, not wanting to frighten her, simply wanting to be sure she makes it home. About a mile up the shore, where the sand beneath the cliffs grows rocky, she turns onto a trail.

“Willow? Papa’s looking for you.” A teenage boy in shorts and a tee appears seconds later.

The boy, probably a young teenager, narrows his eyes and puffs out his chest ever so slightly when he sees me, as if warning me away. I nod my respect to the protective brother, and a glimmer of recognition crosses his expression. I don’t recall meeting him, but I leave her, knowing the kid has her now, and she’s safe.

Chapter5

Willow

“What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?” Orlando asks.

He leads us up the steep incline, as his long legs are much faster than mine, but he continually glances back, worried. He doesn’t need to know what happened. It’s better if no one does.

“What does Papa want?” I ask.

“Massimo De Luca stopped by our house after the engagement party.”

My calves and thighs burn, and I push into the familiar heat. No one climbs this path without paying the price.

Orlando jabbers on, but I shudder. I feel that man’s pudgy hands. On my arm, gripping my throat. Over my lips, pressed hard against my nostrils. The bridge of my nose is sore. And my breasts. He grabbed them like they were toys. He said he came looking for me. Why?

“Mamma and Papa want to talk with you in the morning, but you can’t. There are better men.” I meet Orlando’s dark brown eyes, nearly black in the moonlight, and there’s something new there. The expression he’s wearing adds years. He’s shedding his youth. “Why were you with the American?”

“You know that man?”

“He’s an arms dealer.”

An arms dealer. I shudder. Saved from a monster by a monster.

“I don’t know him. He…” Orlando is too young. If I tell him what happened, he’ll get himself in trouble tomorrow, playing protective brother. “He saw me walking on the beach and wanted to be sure I got home safely.”

“Willow…” Orlando’s serious tone tears at my frayed nerves. He’s never serious. “Massimo De Luca inquired about you.”

“He’s married.” I spit the words.

“His brother…that old man who approached you at the engagement party. He’s the one. It’s sick. He’s like old enough to be your grandfather.”

“Papa said no.” My heart ricochets. “Right?”

“I don’t believe Leandro asked for your hand. But Papa was pissed you weren’t around for him to introduce to the capo. He had me search everywhere for you, and when I couldn’t find you, Massimo asked about your plans, and Papa dismissed me.”

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