Page 2 of Made for Saints

I should have looked away, should have let the feeling drift into the background. But the longer I stared, the more it burrowed under my skin. Familiar or not, there was something about him that defied explanation, something I couldn’t let go of.

Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe it was just my own restless curiosity, but I found myself sliding off my stool and moving toward him before I could stop myself.

"Want to see a trick?" I asked, using the same line that had worked so well all night. When he turned to look at me, I nearly stumbled. His eyes were dark enough to drown in, and they held none of the easy appreciation I was used to seeing. Instead, they studied me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

He didn't answer immediately, just took another sip ofhis drink while considering me. The silence stretched until I nearly turned away, but then his lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"Show me what you've got, princess."

The way he said 'princess' should have been my first warning. It wasn't the usual leering tone I got from men in bars – it was knowing, almost mocking. But I was already committed, and backing down wasn't in my nature.

I pulled out my cards, aware of how his eyes tracked every movement of my hands. The deck felt different somehow, like the cards had gained weight under his scrutiny. I forced myself to maintain my usual patter as I began the routine.

"The thing about tricks," I said, executing a perfect waterfall shuffle, "is that it's all about misdirection." The cards cascaded between my hands, and I caught the slight narrowing of his eyes. He wasn't watching the cards – he was watching me.

"Is that so?" His voice was deep, touched with an accent I couldn't quite place. Italian, probably, knowing this town, but refined in a way that spoke of expensive education.

I nodded, stepping closer to deal the cards between us. "People see what they expect to see. They miss what's right in front of them."

His mouth quirked. "And what do you expect me to see?"

The question threw me off rhythm for a moment. Most marks just played along, eager to see where the trick would lead. This man seemed more interested in dissecting my performance than participating in it.

"Pick a card," I said instead of answering, fanning the deck out before him. His fingers – long, elegant, dangerous – brushed mine as he selected one. The brief contact sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.

I moved through the routine on autopilot, my mind more focused on finding an opening to lift his watch. The challenge of it made my pulse quicken.

"Your card will be..." I leaned in close, using the movementto brush against his arm. "The king of hearts."

He turned over the card with deliberate slowness. The king of hearts stared up at us, and I allowed myself a triumphant smile. "How did I do?"

"Impressive," he said, his dark eyes fixed on my hands as I finished the card trick. His gaze traveled slowly up to my face, lingering in a way that made heat crawl up my neck. "Though I have to wonder what other talents those quick fingers possess."

As I gathered the cards back into their deck, I made my move. Years of practice had taught me the art of distraction – a slight lean forward, letting my hair fall just so, drawing his attention up while my fingers worked below. The watch clasp was expensive but simple, and I'd learned long ago that the more valuable the timepiece, the easier the release mechanism.

"Just a hobby. Keeps me entertained."

He leaned forward, closing the distance between us until his lips nearly brushed my ear. The scent of expensive cologne and something darker, more dangerous, wrapped around me. "I bet you find all sorts of ways to stay entertained, princess."

"A lady never tells," I said, using the movement of shuffling cards to mask the subtle click of the clasp. The weight of his Patek Philippe settled against my wrist, hidden by the drape of my sleeve. Most men never noticed the loss until long after I'd disappeared.

His eyes hadn't left my face, and something in them made me wonder if I'd finally met my match. But the watch was already secured, and I'd never been caught before. I gave him my best innocent smile, the one that always made my father cave to my demands.

"Thanks for being such a willing participant," I said, already planning my exit strategy. The cards went back into my clutch with practiced efficiency.

"Anytime, princess." That knowing smirk was still there, making me question whether I'd actually gotten away withanything at all. But the heavy weight against my wrist told me I had, even if something about his confidence left me unsettled.

I turned on my heel, keeping my steps measured and deliberate. The trick was to leave like you owned the room, even when you were running away. My heels clicked against the sticky floor, the sound echoing faintly in the smoky haze of the bar.

The cool night air greeted me as I stepped outside, crisp and biting against my skin. My Uber was already waiting at the curb, headlights cutting through the darkness. I slid into the backseat, letting the door close with a satisfying thud.

As the car pulled away, I glanced back through the bar’s grimy window. He was still there, leaning casually against the counter, his eyes fixed on me. That smirk hadn’t faded, dangerous and amused, like he was letting me go—for now.

I turned away, clutching my bag tighter, the weight inside a quiet reminder of the game I’d just played.

Sunday dinners at the Ricci estate were always an exercise in carefully orchestrated chaos. The sprawling dining room buzzed with conversation in rapid-fire Italian, punctuated by the clink of crystal and the occasional burst of laughter. I'd spent the last hour strategically positioning myself as far from the main table as possible, using my cousins as human shields.

"He's here," Marco, my oldest brother, announced as he passed behind my chair. His hand squeezed my shoulder in what might have been meant as comfort but felt more like a warning.

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