Page 106 of Made for Saints

I swallowed hard, my throat aching as my fingers unconsciously brushed against the faint bruises forming on my neck. “But it was messy. I panicked. I didn’t even know what I was doing.”

Dante stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, his presence overwhelming. He reached out, his fingers brushing my chin, tipping my face up to meet his gaze. His touch was firm but gentle, grounding me in a way that made my chest ache.

“You think the first time someone kills, they do it cleanly?” he asked, his voice steady but edged with something dark. “You think it’s supposed to feel controlled? It’s chaos, princess. It’s ugly. And it’s never something you forget.” His thumb grazed my cheek lightly, as though wiping away something unseen. “You did what you had to do. That’s what matters.”

His words sank in, heavy and unshakable, and I couldn’t look away from him. There was no judgment in his eyes, no disgust—only a fierce, unrelenting intensity that made my breath catch.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like gravel sliding over silk. “You were never meant tobelong to anyone else.” His hand trailed up, brushing against my jaw, his fingers firm but deliberate, holding me in place like he couldn’t bear for me to look away.

“You’re mine,” he said, his dark eyes burning into mine, his breath warm and steady against my skin. “You’ve always been mine. And I’d rip this world apart piece by piece to keep it that way.”

The air between us felt charged, electric, the weight of his declaration pressing down on me like a physical force. My breath hitched, my pulse racing as his words echoed in my mind. His. He’d said it before, but this time it felt different—heavier, more absolute. Like a vow.

“Dante…” I began, my voice trembling, but he cut me off.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his thumb brushing against my cheek again, the gesture so tender it made my chest ache. “I just need you to understand. You don’t have to carry this alone. You never did.”

His sincerity left me speechless. For a moment, all I could do was stare at him, my thoughts a tangled mess of emotions I couldn’t begin to unravel. He was infuriating, overbearing, and dangerous in ways that made my head spin. But he was also the only person who made me feel like I could survive this—like I could survive anything.

“Why do you care so much?” I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why me?”

Dante’s lips curved into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. “Because you’re the only thing in this world that feels real,” he said simply, his voice like a confession. “Everything else—power, money, alliances—it’s all just noise. But you? You make me want to be better. Even when I know I don’t deserve you.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me reeling. I’d spent so much time trying to understand him, trying to make sense of the man behind the mask he so carefully wore. And now here he was, baring his soul to me in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted, my voice trembling.

Instead of speaking, he settled his hands on my waist, drawing me closer until there was no space left between us. My breath hitched as I looked up at him, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made my chest tighten. It wasn’t just desire—though that was there, simmering beneath the surface—it was something deeper, something raw and unspoken that made my pulse race.

“Dante…” I started, but before I could say anything more, his lips crashed into mine.

The kiss was electric, a collision of passion and desperation that left me breathless. His hand slid up my back, pulling me in impossibly closer as his other hand cupped the side of my face, holding me like I was something precious. My fingers clutched at the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric as if I were afraid to let go, afraid that this moment might slip through my fingers like sand.

His lips were warm and demanding, but there was something else in the way he kissed me—something almost reverent, like he was pouring every unspoken word, every unguarded emotion into me. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a confession. A declaration. It was everything he couldn’t say out loud, and it left me trembling in his arms.

Before I could fully process what was happening, he lifted me, his strong hands gripping the backs of my thighs as he effortlessly picked me up. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and I gasped against his lips, my arms looping around his neck for balance.

My body pressed against his, and I could feel the tension in him, the way his muscles coiled as if he were holding back, trying not to lose control. But there was no hesitation in the way he kissed me, his lips moving against mine like he’d been waiting for this moment forever.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe; all I could do was feel. The heat of his body against mine, the rough strength of his hands holding me steady, the way his teeth grazed my lower lip, sending a shiver down my spine. It was overwhelming inthe best way, like a storm I didn’t want to escape from.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breathing heavy and uneven. His hands stayed on me, holding me like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.

“This is why I care,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the words brushing against my lips. “Because you make me feel like I’m alive. Like I’m not just a weapon. You see me, Emilia. The real me.”

My heart twisted painfully at his words, and I realized with startling clarity that this wasn’t just about lust or attraction. This was something more. Something neither of us could put into words, though he’d just tried.

The kiss had been more than passion—it was a confession of love, raw and unfiltered, and I could feel the weight of it settling in my chest.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck as I looked into his eyes. “You don’t have to be better,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Not for me.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue, but instead, he kissed me again—softer this time, slower, like he was savoring me.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was so much more…

Chapter 34

Emilia

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