Page 100 of Made for Saints

His words stung, the venom in them cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. But I refused to let him see how much they affected me. “You’re wrong,” I said through gritted teeth. “And if you don’t leave right now, you’ll be the one needing protection.”

Romero’s patience finally snapped. With a growl, he lunged toward me, his hand outstretched, snapping around my throat and pushing me up against the wall.

My back hit the wall with a thud, and the air was forced from my lungs. His hand tightened around my throat, cutting off my breath, and panic erupted in my chest like a wildfire. I clawed at his wrist, my nails digging into his skin, but his grip was unrelenting.

I was going to die. Tears formed around my eyes as I opened my mouth desperate for air.

The room blurred at the edges, my vision narrowing as black spots began to dance in front of my eyes. My lungs burned, desperate for air, and my body jerked instinctively, trying to twist away from him. I kicked out wildly, my legsthrashing in an attempt to connect with anything—his shin, his knee, anything that would make him let go.

But he didn’t.

"I can’t wait to tear that cunt up until it’s useless by the time Dante wants his turn.”

His hand was like a vice, unyielding, and the pressure on my throat sent waves of pain radiating through my neck and chest. The cold wall behind me felt rough against my shoulders, grounding me just enough to keep the panic from completely consuming me.

My head swam, the lack of oxygen making it harder to think, harder to move. My body felt heavy, sluggish, as if it were betraying me in the most critical moment. His other hand roamed over me, grabbing, pressing, his touch invasive and cruel.

Rage bubbled beneath the surface of my fear, desperate to break free. I tried to scream, but the sound died in my throat, replaced by a choked gasp that only seemed to fuel his smug satisfaction.

The moment his fingers brushed against the silk of my dress, something inside me snapped. My hand shot down to my thigh, my fingers wrapping around the hilt of the dagger Dante had given me.

Foolish, but alive.

The words etched into the blade flashed through my mind, their meaning sharper now than ever before. Maybe I was foolish—plunging headfirst into danger, into situations I wasn’t sure I could survive. But I was still standing. Still breathing. And I’d be damned if I let this bastard take that from me.

Without thinking, I pulled the blade free and thrust it upward, the motion swift and instinctual. The blade sank into Romero’s side with a sickening ease, and his eyes widened in shock as he let go of me clutching at the wound.

I took a much-needed breath, air rushing into my burning lungs as I stumbled back against the wall, clutching the daggerwith trembling hands. My chest heaved, every breath sharp and painful, but I couldn’t stop. Not yet.

Romero staggered, his hand pressed tightly to the wound in his side. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining them red and dripping onto the pristine floor. He looked down at the spreading stain with disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as though he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.

“You...youstabbedme,” he rasped, his voice thick with shock and pain. "You fucking bitch!"

I didn’t answer, my eyes locked on him, adrenaline surging through my veins. My grip on the dagger was tight enough to make my knuckles ache, but I couldn’t loosen it. My entire body was trembling, my legs threatening to buckle beneath me, but I refused to look weak. Not now.

Romero’s shock quickly turned to fury, his dark eyes snapping up to meet mine. “You cunt,” he spat, his hand still clutching at his side as he took a step toward me.

Instinct screamed at me to fight, to run, to do something—anything—to stop him from closing the distance.

My grip tightened on the dagger as Romero took another step toward me, his face twisted in rage. The blood dripping from his side left a dark, slick trail on the marble floor, but he didn’t seem to care. His eyes burned with hatred, and the realization hit me like a punch to the gut—he wasn’t going to stop. Not until one of us was on the ground.

And it wasn’t going to be me.

He lunged, his movements slower now, hindered by the wound I’d already inflicted. But his strength was still terrifying. My heart slammed against my ribs as I raised the dagger again, the cool steel trembling in my hands.

“Stay back,” I warned, my voice shaking but firm.

Romero sneered, his lips curling into a cruel grin despite the blood staining his teeth. “You think you’re a killer, darling? You don’t have it in you.”

He lunged again, and this time, I didn’t hesitate.

I drove the dagger forward, the blade sinking into hischest with a sickening resistance. The sound it made—a wet, muffled crunch—echoed in the small room, and I felt the vibration travel up the hilt and into my arm. Romero’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in a silent gasp as he staggered back, his hands clutching at the blade now embedded in his chest.

But he didn’t fall.

My breath came in short, ragged bursts as I stumbled back, my legs threatening to give out beneath me. Romero’s knees buckled slightly, but he caught himself on the edge of a table, his bloodied hand smearing red streaks across the polished surface.

“You...bitch,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. His fingers clawed at the dagger, trying to pull it free, but his strength was fading. I could see it in the way his shoulders sagged, the way his movements grew sluggish.

---