Page 76 of The Saint

It was a fair assumption—because I did.

He finally pulled out his phone and made a call, holding the phone to his ear.

It rang and rang and rang.

He took the phone away and called someone else.

It took all my strength not to smile.

When no one picked up a second time, he didn’t look nearly as confident.

Luca released a whistle from inside the warehouse, the sound quiet but noticeable if anyone was paying attention.

Ivan glanced behind me before he looked at me, and he opened his mouth to give an order.

I cut him off. “I guess people aren’t as loyal to you as you think they are.” Then I sprinted, running as fast as I could back to the warehouse, seeing the grenades flying over me in the opposite direction. Gunfire erupted, and right when I reached the small door that led to the warehouse, it flew open.

I was running so fast that I stumbled when I got inside, and I rolled several times on the concrete before I smashed into a table. The explosions were enough to make the ground tremble like an earthquake had struck.

Luca shouted orders, and the men continued to fire. “They’re retreating.”

I forced myself up and grabbed one of the rifles. “Ivan dead?”

“No, I don’t see him.”

I went to one of the holes and checked the road. The vehicles that were still operational fled the scene, leaving the cars on fire in the middle of the road. Dead men were everywhere, their bodies abandoned as the living got away.

Ivan’s body was nowhere to be found.

The cars drove away, and the firing ceased.

The scene would be all over the news, and I wasn’t sure what reporters would say about it. Because what had just happened didn’t happen in countries like France. President Martin would have a hell of a time taking questions from the media.

But we were alive.

And Fleur was okay.

Luca dropped me off at the house, and I ran inside.

They were in the drawing room, a space with couches and a fireplace, perfect for entertaining—except for the fact that I never entertained. That would require me to have friends and a social life, and I had neither of those things.

Godric stood by the window, his back to me.

Fleur was seated in the armchair when I walked inside, and when she saw me, she gasped so loud and ran straight to me before she jumped into my arms.

I caught her and held her tight, savoring her smell, a scent I thought I would never breathe in again. I’d just seen her a few hours ago, but it felt like weeks and months when so much stress had aged my heart. My arms shook as I held her, and I felt tears burn my eyes because I was just so goddamn grateful that she was there. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said through her tears. “It’s okay…”

It wasn’t okay. It would never be okay.

I finally set her down and looked at her face—and I nearly threw up.

She had a black eye and a swollen nose. A cut on her cheek. Puffy lips like she’d been punched in the mouth too.

Tears flooded my eyes, and I cried like I never had, fucking broken. “No…”

“I’m okay.” Her hands cupped my cheeks, and she cried, not for herself, but for me. “I’m okay.”

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