Page 15 of Made for Saints

She rolled her eyes, finally letting a small smile slip through. “You’re hilarious. Truly. Maybe you should quit the mob and try stand-up.”

“I’ll consider it,” I said with mock seriousness, “if you promise to be my first audience member. Front row, laughing the loudest. Deal?”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to the water before meeting mine. “I just wanted to say...thank you. For checking on me earlier.”

The words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. I glanced at her, trying to read her expression, but her face was calm, her eyes steady. Finally, I nodded, my voice low. “You’re welcome.”

She shifted her weight, her arms still crossed as she studied me. “You’re not exactly what I expected, you know.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, shrugging lightly. “Someone colder. More ruthless. Someone who wouldn’t bother checking on me.”

I smirked, leaning slightly closer. “Don’t get the wrong idea, princess. I didn’t check on you out of kindness. I just didn’t want to deal with the fallout if something happened to you on my watch.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, but I caught the glimmer of amusement there. “Right. Of course. How selfless of you.”

“Always,” I said smoothly. “Selflessness is practically mymiddle name.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” she shot back, her voice dry but warm.

We stood there in silence for a moment, the tension between us only growing thicker. Beneath the sharp edges of our words, there was something else—something I couldn’t quite name.

Something dangerous.

She shifted again, her arms falling to her sides as she turned toward the water. “You’re not as tough as you like to pretend, you know,” she said softly, not looking at me.

“Careful,” I warned, my tone low but teasing, “you might hurt my feelings.”

“I’m serious,” she said, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. “You act like you’re made of stone, but I think there’s more to you than that.”

I leaned against the railing, my smirk fading as I met her gaze. “And what makes you so sure?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Call it intuition.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Dangerous thing, intuition. It gets people killed.”

“Maybe,” she said, her voice light again, “but it also keeps things interesting.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me standing there with the ghost of her words lingering in the air. I couldn’t help but smile, despite myself.

She had no idea just how dangerous things were about to get.

Chapter 5

Emilia

The morning after the yacht incident, I sat at our kitchen island, nursing a cappuccino and trying to chase away the dull throb behind my eyes. Sleep had eluded me, my dreams haunted by gunshots and dark, unrelenting eyes that seemed to strip me bare.

From the other side of the room, the low murmur of voices carried over—the usual morning debrief between my brothers. Their words were sharp-edged, every syllable laced with the weight of business that never stopped, not even after what had happened yesterday.

"Did you hear about the Irish?" Marco's voice was clear, louder than the others as he spoke.

"The Irish," Tony repeated, his tone dry with a hint of disdain. "When are they not making a mess of things?"

"This was different," Marco said, his voice lowering slightly, as if even saying it out loud required caution. "You remember the port in Wilmington? The Irish tried to take it last week. They came in heavy—men, weapons, the whole nine yards. The Conti brothers had to send a message."

I stilled, the rim of my mug brushing my lips as the words sank in.

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