Page 116 of Made for Saints

Dante glanced at her, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in slightly, listening intently to whatever she was saying. She laughed at something, the sound light and melodic, and I hated how effortless it all seemed. Like she belonged there. Like she belonged with him.

Something cold and sharp curled in my stomach, a bitter weight I couldn’t ignore. I felt like I was intruding on something I wasn’t meant to see. Like I didn’t belong here.

And maybe I didn’t.

I tore my gaze away, but the image was burned into my mind. Her hand on his arm. His lack of reaction. The easy way they seemed to fit together.

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I exhaled shakily, my chest tightening with something I didn’t want to name.

What the hell was this?

I didn’t know, but I hated it.

Chapter 37

Emilia

Icouldn’t stop staring.

My stomach twisted painfully as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. I told myself it was nothing. She was probably just another business associate, someone he had to deal with as part of whatever empire he ruled over. But the way she laughed at something he said, her hand lingering on his arm a moment too long, made it impossible to believe that.

The rational part of my brain told me to look away, to stop torturing myself. But the irrational part—the part that remembered the way his hands had felt on me, the way his lips had claimed mine—kept screaming for answers I didn’t want to admit I needed.

I tore my gaze away, sinking back into the plush sofa as I tried to focus on anything else. The music from the club below pulsed faintly through the windows, its rhythm syncing with the pounding of my heart. I grabbed the glass of champagne a waiter had brought me earlier, the bubbles fizzing against the rim as I took a small sip. It didn’t help. No amount of expensive champagne was going to burn away the knot of frustration twisting inside me.

Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself firmly. He’s not yours. He’s not anyone’s.

But that thought didn’t bring the comfort it should have. If anything, it made the ache worse.

I glanced back toward the office without meaning to, my traitorous eyes catching on the woman’s easy posture, the way her body tilted toward Dante like she was magnetized. Her smile was wide and confident, her hand brushing his arm again as she spoke. Dante didn’t move away, didn’t even seem to notice—or worse, maybe he didn’t care.

My fingers tightened around the glass, its delicate stem trembling slightly in my grip. I set it down before I could do something stupid, like break it. My hands curled into fists in my lap as I tried to shove down the growing frustration, the sharp sting of jealousy I didn’t want to admit was there.

I didn’t want to care. I didn’t want to feel this way. But the truth was, I did. And it was infuriating.

I signaled to a passing waiter, my voice sharper than I intended. “Bring me something stronger.”

The young man hesitated, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Stronger, miss?”

“Yes. Whiskey, vodka, tequila—I don’t care. Just not champagne.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said nervously, glancing over his shoulder as if someone might be watching. “We’re only allowed to serve you champagne.”

My lips pressed into a thin line. “Says who?”

The waiter fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, miss. It’s just the policy.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, my grip tightening on the champagne flute. “Fine. Just bring me another one of these, then.”

He nodded quickly, retreating with an apologetic “Sorry, miss.” I watched him go, the irritation simmering under my skin now bubbling dangerously close to the surface. All I’d wanted was something to dull the sharp edge of my nerves, to quiet the irrational thoughts swirling in my head. But no—apparently, even that was too much to ask.

I took another sip of the champagne, the taste suddenly cloying and unsatisfying. My gaze flicked back toward theoffice despite myself, but Dante was no longer there. I barely had time to process his absence before I felt his presence—an unmistakable weight in the air—at my side.

“You look upset,” he said, his voice low and smooth as he slid into the seat beside me. His dark eyes scanned my face, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Care to tell me why?”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I snapped, setting my glass down with more force than necessary.

He tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “Not particularly. Besides, you looked like you could use some company.”

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