Page 110 of Made for Saints

“I’ll handle the rest,” I continued, my tone softening. “That’s not something you need to carry. You did what you had to do to survive, and now it’s my job to make sure there’s nothing left for you to deal with.”

She set the plate aside, her appetite clearly forgotten, and wrapped her arms around her knees. “And what about...everyone else? My father? Won’t they—”

“They won’t,” I cut in firmly. “Your father doesn’t need to know the details. Trust me, Emilia. This is over.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to her hands. “It just...it doesn’t feel over,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “It feels like it’s just beginning.”

I reached out, my fingers brushing against hers, and she looked up at me, her eyes wide and searching. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” I said, my voice low but resolute. “You’re safe with me, Emilia. Always.”

Her lips trembled slightly, and for a moment, I thought she might cry. But then she took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders as she gave me a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Dante.”

I nodded, my thumb brushing over her knuckles before I pulled my hand away. “I hate to cut this short,” I said reluctantly, “but I have business to attend to. I’ll have to drop you home.”

Her smile faltered slightly, but she nodded in understanding. “Of course. I get it.”

I stood, grabbing my own plate and hers as I headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll see you sooner than later,” I promised over my shoulder, my voice firm. “Count on it.”

The drive to her house was quieter than I would’ve liked. She sat in the passenger seat, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the window as the city blurred past. I wanted to say something, to fill the silence with words that would make her feel better, but I didn’t know where to start. So I let the quiet stretch between us, the hum of the engine the only sound.

When we finally pulled up to the Ricci estate, I turned to her, my hand resting on the gearshift. “Stay out of trouble,” I said, my tone lighter than I felt.

She turned to me, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll try.”

“Emilia,” I said, my voice softening, “I mean it.”

Her smile faded, replaced by something more serious. “I know. And I’ll be careful. I promise.”

She leaned over, her lips brushing against my cheek in a gesture so fleeting I almost thought I’d imagined it. And then she was gone, the door closing behind her as she disappeared into the house.

I met Luca and Rafe at a small café downtown, the kind of place where the coffee was strong and the conversations were private. They was already there when I arrived, lounging in a corner booth, each with a drinkin one hand and their phones in the other.

“Look who decided to show up,” Luca said, smirking as I slid into the seat across from him. “How’s the housewife life treating you?”

I shot Luca a glare, but he just grinned, clearly enjoying himself. Rafe, seated next to him, was already nursing a cappuccino, his legs stretched out under the table like he didn’t have a care in the world. I ignored both of them for a moment, signaling the waitress for an espresso before leaning back in my seat.

“Still not funny,” I said flatly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Oh, come on,” Luca said, his grin widening. “You’re making breakfast, driving her home, looking at her like she hung the damn moon. I’m just saying, it’s a good look on you, brother. Domesticity suits you.”

“Domesticity,” I repeated, my tone dry. “Right. Because that’s what this is.”

Rafe snorted, his gaze flicking between the two of us. “He’s not wrong, you know. You’re acting...different.”

“Different how?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Less like a cold, calculating bastard and more like a man who’s completely whipped,” Luca said, taking a sip of his espresso. “It’s refreshing, really. Almost endearing.”

I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to throw my newly arrived espresso in his face. “I’m not whipped.”

“Sure you’re not,” Rafe said, smirking. “So, what’s the plan then? You gonna keep playing house with the Ricci girl, or are you actually going to make this official?”

I froze, the question hitting harder than I expected. I hadn’t told them yet—hadn’t told anyone, really—but the thought had been circling in my mind since last night. Watching her sleep, holding her in my arms, I’d realized something I couldn’t ignore. Emilia wasn’t just a distraction or a fleeting obsession. She was it. The one. And if I wanted to keep her, to protect her, I needed to make it official.

“I’m working on it,” I said finally, my voice low.

Luca raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Working on it? What does that mean?”

“It means I’m going to talk to her father,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “Make a proposal. A formal one.”

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