Page 28 of Made for Saints

She gave a slight shrug, her gaze lingering on a group of men in dark suits who were deep in discussion near thebar. “I’m fine. Just more of the same, you know?” She took a sip of her champagne, her voice dropping slightly. “Another reminder that we’re nothing more than pawns in their game.”

I didn’t respond, because what could I say? She wasn’t wrong. This party, this engagement, the entire evening—it was all a performance, a carefully orchestrated display of power and unity.

Adrianna turned back to me, her expression softening slightly. “But at least I have you to suffer through this with,” she said, her tone teasing but her eyes sincere.

“Always,” I said, giving her a small smile.

She raised her glass, her lips curving into something closer to a real smile this time. “To surviving another night.”

“To surviving,” I echoed, clinking my glass against hers.

For a moment, the weight of the evening didn’t feel quite so heavy. With Adrianna by my side, it was easier to forget the expectations, the power plays, and the endless obligations. At least we had each other, even if the rest of the world was determined to keep us trapped.

“They went all out,” I said, my voice low as I sipped from my champagne flute. The bubbles fizzed against my tongue, but the drink did little to settle my nerves.

Adrianna’s lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course they did. Appearances are everything in our world.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. I glanced at her, noting the way her gaze lingered on the center of the room. Her fiancé—a man I barely knew but instinctively disliked—was holding court with a group of his associates, his laughter loud and grating. Adrianna’s smile tightened as she watched him, her fingers clenching around the stem of her glass.

“Is he good to you?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

She turned to me, her expression softening slightly. “Yes,” she said, though the lie was obvious. “It’s just...a marriage?”

I nodded, understanding all too well. Adrianna and I hadgrown up in the same world, bound by the same rules and expectations. We both knew what it meant to sacrifice our own happiness for the sake of family loyalty. But knowing didn’t make it any easier.

Soon, it would be my turn. My father hadn’t said anything yet, but I could feel it coming—the unspoken pressure tightening like a noose around my throat. A deal would be struck, a marriage arranged, and I’d be handed over like a pawn on a chessboard. It was just a matter of time.

The thought churned in my stomach, bitter and heavy, and before I could stop myself, my mind drifted to Dante’s words.If you were mine…

Heat rushed to my cheeks despite myself. The way he’d said it—low and firm, laced with that dangerous promise—made something twist deep inside me. I hated how easily his words wormed their way back into my thoughts, how they lingered like an uninvited guest.

Because as much as I wanted to dismiss him, to shove every arrogant, maddening thing he’d said out of my mind, I couldn’t. The idea of belonging to someone like Dante terrified me. And worse, it didn’t just terrify me—it thrilled me.

“Come on,” she said, breaking me from my thoughts as she looped her arm through mine. “Let’s mingle. If I have to endure this, you’re suffering with me.”

I let her drag me into the crowd, plastering on a polite smile as we made our way through the throng of guests. The room was filled with familiar faces—family members, associates, and the occasional distant cousin whose name I could never remember. The air buzzed with laughter and conversation, but beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of tension, the kind that always accompanied events like this.

It didn’t take long for trouble to find me.

“Emilia,” a voice drawled from behind me, smooth but with an edge that sent a chill down my spine. I turned to find Romero standing there, his grin wide and predatory, like a wolfsizing up its prey. He was tall and lean, his tailored suit doing little to soften the sharp, angular lines of his frame. His dark hair was slicked back with precision, not a strand out of place, and his sharp cheekbones only added to the harshness of his features.

Romero was a family associate, one of my father’s most trusted men. Ruthless, calculating, and utterly loyal to the Ricci name—or at least, to the power it promised. But I’d never trusted him for a second. There was something about the way he moved, deliberate and too smooth, like every gesture was designed to unsettle. And the way he looked at me, like I was a prize to be claimed, made my skin crawl.

“Romero,” I said coolly, forcing my expression to remain neutral even as my stomach twisted. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Of course I’m here,” he said, stepping closer with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. His cologne hit me before he did, cloying and overpowering, a sharp, synthetic scent that made my nose wrinkle. “Wouldn’t miss a chance to see you.”

His grin widened, his teeth too perfect, too white, as his dark eyes swept over me in a way that made my pulse quicken—not with attraction, but with unease. He had a way of looking at me like I was an object, something he could acquire if he played his cards right.

“How flattering,” I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

“You look beautiful tonight, Emilia. Truly breathtaking,” he said, his eyes roaming over me in a way that made my skin crawl. His voice was smooth, too smooth, dripping with a sweetness that felt anything but sincere.

“Thank you,” I replied stiffly, taking a deliberate step back. But like a shadow, he followed, closing the distance between us with an ease that made my spine straighten.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said, his tone dropping into something more intimate, conspiratorial. His head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing like he was letting mein on some secret only he was clever enough to know.

“About your father’s plans for you.”

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