Page 125 of Made for Saints

“Rescuing?” I repeated, my tone sharp. “From what? A perfectly nice conversation with someone who doesn't scream at me?”

Dante’s lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made my blood simmer and my pulse race in equal measure. “From boredom,” he said, his voice smooth and infuriatingly confident. “I could see it all over your face.”

I narrowed my eyes, resisting the urge to stomp on his polished shoes.

"I lost my cool last night," he said, his hand tightening slightly on my waist as he spun me, the motion pulling me closer than was strictly necessary.

I rolled my eyes. "No fucking kidding." Then with a sneer I leaned in and sniffed. "You smell like a distillery, have you even stopped drinking?" I would feign disgust so that he didn't see the hurt I really felt.

Dante’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment, his dark eyes narrowing as they bore into mine. “Careful, princess,” he said, his voice low and edged with warning. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

“Good,” I shot back, my tone sharp as I matched his intensity. “Maybe it’ll wake you up. Because whatever this is—” I gestured between us, my hand brushing against his chest as we swayed to the music, “—it’s exhausting. One minute you’re possessive and overbearing, and the next, you’re cold and distant. Make up your mind, Dante. Either you care, or you don’t.”

His grip on my waist tightened, his fingers pressing into the fabric of my dress as if he were holding himself back. “You think I don’t care?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down my spine. “You have no idea what I’ve been dealing with, Emilia. No idea what I’ve been trying to protect you from.”

“Protect me?” I scoffed, my heart pounding in my chest as Iglared up at him. “Is that what you call it? Because from where I’m standing, it feels more like you’re trying to control me.”

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking beneath the shadow of stubble along his cheek. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. “This isn’t just about you, Emilia. There are things at play here—things you wouldn’t even begin to comprehend.”

“Then explain it to me!” I demanded, my voice rising despite the music and the murmurs of the crowd around us. “Stop keeping me in the dark and treating me like I’m some fragile little girl who can’t handle the truth. You don’t get to make decisions for me, Dante.”

His eyes flashed, a storm brewing behind them as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You want the truth?” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down my spine. “Fine. I’m trying to stop a war, Emilia. A war that could destroy everything—and everyone—you care about. And the last thing I need is you getting caught in the crossfire because you can’t stay out of trouble.”

I froze, his words sinking in like a stone dropped into the depths of my chest. A war. The weight of it pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating, but I refused to let him see how much it affected me. Instead, I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze with defiance.

“And what about you?” I asked, my voice trembling but steady enough to carry the challenge. “Who’s protecting you, Dante? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re the one falling apart.”

His smirk returned, but it was bitter, devoid of the usual arrogance that made me want to slap him. “I don’t need protecting,” he said, his voice cold and clipped. “Not from you. Not from anyone.”

“Really?” I shot back, my anger flaring again. “Because it seems to me like you’re drowning, Dante. You’ve been avoiding me, snapping at me, and now you’re here, making a scene because you can’t handle the fact that someone else mightactually enjoy my company.”

His grip on my waist tightened, his fingers digging into my skin just enough to make me gasp. “You think this is about jealousy?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I give a damn about some second-rate nobody trying to charm you on the dance floor?”

“Then what is it about?” I challenged, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared up at him. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell looks like jealousy.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against my ear. “It’s about you, Emilia,” he growled, his voice rough and unrelenting. “It’s always been about you. And the fact that you’re too damn stubborn to see it is driving me insane.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat as he spun me again, the motion pulling me flush against his chest. His hand slid from my waist to my lower back, pressing me closer as the music swelled around us, the rest of the world fading into the background.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice soft but no less intense, the words a quiet declaration that sent a shiver down my spine. “And I don’t care who knows it.”

The possessiveness in his tone should have infuriated me, should have made me push him away and walk off the dance floor. But instead, it left me breathless, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared up at him.

The heat of his words wrapped around me like a vice, tightening with every syllable. My breath hitched, and I hated the way my body betrayed me, leaning into him even as my mind screamed at me to pull away. His dark eyes burned into mine, daring me to challenge him, to push back against the weight of his claim.

“You don’t get to decide that,” I said finally, my voice trembling but resolute. “You don’t get to decide who I belong to, Dante.”

His smirk returned, sharp and dangerous, but there wassomething else in his gaze—something raw and unguarded that made my chest tighten. “Don’t I?” he murmured, his hand sliding higher up my back, his touch firm and possessive. “Because every time you look at me, every time you let me touch you, you’re deciding. Whether you admit it or not.”

My heart pounded, the music around us fading into a distant hum as the tension between us coiled tighter, like a spring ready to snap. His words were a challenge, a declaration, and I hated how much they affected me. Hated how much I wanted to believe them.

“Dancing with me. Letting me hold you. Letting me remind every man in this room that you’re mine.”

I opened my mouth to argue, to throw his words back at him, but the intensity in his gaze stopped me cold. Dante’s hand on my back burned like a brand, his dark eyes locking me in place, daring me to defy him. But I couldn’t do this—not here, not now. Not with the weight of his words pressing down on me, making my chest ache with emotions I wasn’t ready to name.

He was drunk, he wasn't thinking straight. I was throwing every excuse into the atmosphere to explain his behaviour.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to pull away from him. “I need some air,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Let go of me, Dante.”

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