Page 62 of The Saint

“Do I look like the dad type?” he asked somewhat coldly. “It’s not on my agenda. But if you want a family, just tell me when and I’ll step up.”

He didn’t shy away from the topic, fully cooperative. I should be grateful, but I hoped to have a husband who wanted to be a father. But I couldn’t ask him to want something he didn’t, to be a different person than he was. “May I ask why?”

“Why I prefer not to have them?” he asked with slight incredulity. “For starters, my line of work is not ideal for raising a kid. I sleep during the day, I’m gone at night. If I show up to a parent-teacher conference, everyone will shit themselves. And my childhood was a shitshow of trauma and violence, so I don’t know a damn thing about creating a warm, nurturing environment for a child to thrive.” He cocked his head. “You know what the last thing my father said to me was before he died?” His voice was different—angry but contained at the same time.

It hurt me to listen to all of this because I could see his pain in his eyes, hear the unspent rage that burned in an inferno inside his chest. He commanded a room with his confidence, but inside, he was broken like the rest of us.

“He said I was—and I fucking quote—a worthless son I wish I’d never had.”

I inhaled a painful breath, killed the tears before they had the chance to start. It hurt to picture that exchange, to picture anyone saying that to someone I loved so much. His mother was so loving, so motherly, and it was hard to imagine having a father who was such a fucking prick.

“Not only do I have no desire to be a parent, I’m also unfit for the job.”

I needed a second to process what he said, to accept his heartbreak with a straight face. “I’m sorry that happened?—”

“Don’t pity me. I’m a grown-ass man who doesn’t need sympathy.”

It was as if his confession in bed had never happened, his vulnerability long gone. “It’s not pity or sympathy.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t fucking want it.” He turned vicious, treating me like I was some asshole who’d crossed him rather than his fiancée.

I normally would have snapped back, but given the fact that he continued to bleed from wounds he refused to see, I let it go. “I’ve seen the way you treat your mother. You’re kind, respectful, and gracious to her. And you’ve made me feel more loved than anyone ever has in my entire life. You’re at odds with your brother, whom I can tell you still care about, because you want toprotect young women who are strangers to you. You say you’re unfit for the job, but you’re more fit than I am.”

His stare remained rock hard and stoic, refusing to let my words pierce his flesh.

“And if we had children, you wouldn’t be working anymore, so we wouldn’t have to worry about all that stuff.”

His eyebrows slowly furrowed at what I said. “I would never ask you to give up your dream of having children, so why would you ask me to give up my dream of running this city?”

“I—I wouldn’t ask you. I just assumed that’s what would happen.”

“That was the wrong assumption.”

The disappointment hit me like a wrecking ball. “So, we would have little ones while you’re the head of this country’s organized crime faction with a target on your back? I’m okay with being at risk because I’m grown enough to make that decision for myself, but they wouldn’t be.”

“I would never let anything happen to you. I’ve proven that.”

“I know, but?—”

“And I would never let anything happen to our children either. I will provide for you and protect you. Always.”

“I understand that, Bastien. But you can’t control everything.”

“I won’t give up my work for something I don’t even want.” He didn’t raise his voice, but it somehow felt like he was yelling. “And it’s wrong of you to expect me to.”

“Bastien, do you even like your job?”

“What kind of question is that?”

I knew I’d hit his trigger, but I continued. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re still trying to prove something.” Prove that he was more than what his father had said. Prove himself to be a bigger kingpin than his father ever was.

Bastien was dead silent, and the longer that silence continued, the more suffocating it became.

Fuck, there was no going back now.

His expression hardened, and even though the change was subtle, he somehow looked fucking deranged. When he spoke, he managed to speak calmly, but he was right up against the border of insanity. “Don’t. Analyze. Me.”

“Bastien—”

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