Page 35 of Made for Saints

The walls felt closer with every second. The silence pressed against me, amplifying the thoughts I was trying to drown out. My grip tightened around the empty glass before I set it down with a sharp clink.

I needed air.

Pushing open the door, I stepped onto the patio. The cool night breeze hit me like a shock, the salt in the air sharp and cleansing. Beyond the railing, the sea stretched out into the darkness, waves crashing faintly against the cliffs below. For a moment, I just stood there, my hands braced on the cold metal, my shoulders rising and falling with each breath.

But even here, under the open sky, she lingered.

Chapter 13

Emilia

The night buzzed with energy, the kind of forced cheer that only came from people trying too hard to appear relaxed. Voices overlapped in rapid-fire Italian, laughter punctuated by the clink of crystal glasses and the scrape of silverware. The dining room was alive with conversation, but I felt like I was watching it all through a pane of glass. Present, but not part of it.

Why did my family have so many fucking functions? Exhausting.

Even more exhausting was the reason for tonight’s gathering—it was Dante’s party, a celebration of some vague “business success” that no one dared to question. The room practically pulsed with his presence, even if he wasn’t speaking at that moment. He sat at the head of the table, perfectly at ease, his dark eyes scanning the room like he was cataloging every secret, every potential weakness.

I hated how aware of him I was, how I could feel his presence like a shadow pressing against my skin even from across the room. The sharp lines of his jaw, the perfectly tailored suit that emphasized his broad shoulders, the effortless way he held himself—it was maddening. He was maddening.

I caught myself glancing at him again, only to find him already looking at me. His gaze was steady, sharp, and far too knowing, like he’d caught every stray thought that had flittedthrough my mind. My stomach flipped, and I quickly looked away, focusing on the half-empty wine glass in front of me.

I shifted in my chair, stifling a yawn and toying with the stem of my wine glass, the rich red liquid untouched. Across the room, my brothers were deep in conversation with my father and a few of his associates. Their voices carried snippets of words—business, shipments, alliances—but I tuned it out. It was always the same. Deals made over expensive wine and under the guise of familial unity.

And then there was Romero.

I could feel his gaze on me from across the room, heavy and intrusive, like a hand pressing against my skin. He was leaning casually against the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his posture deceptively relaxed. But his eyes...they were anything but. They followed me wherever I moved, dark and calculating, like he was already planning the next move in a game I hadn’t agreed to play.

He had accosted me earlier, commenting again on the prospect of a fated match. His comments still echoed in my mind, his voice dripping with entitlement as he’d leaned in too close, his hand brushing against mine under the guise of politeness.“We’d make a good match, don’t you think?”he’d said, his smile sharp and predatory.“Your father knows it. You’ll see soon enough.”

The thought made my stomach churn. My father hadn’t said anything outright, but the way he’d looked at me when Romero had spoken—calm, expectant—had been enough. The idea that he might be considering an arrangement with Romero made my skin crawl.

I needed air.

Slipping away from the table, I made my way through the throng of guests, offering polite smiles and murmured excuses as I went. No one stopped me. They were too engrossed in their own conversations, their own machinations. The patio doors were open, the cool evening air spilling into the stuffy dining room like a lifeline. I stepped outside, letting the door closesoftly behind me.

The patio was bathed in the soft glow of string lights, their warm light casting gentle shadows across the stone tiles. A single candle flickered on the small table near the edge of the space, its flame dancing in the slight breeze. The garden beyond was quiet, the only sound the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hum of cicadas. It was a stark contrast to the chaos inside, and for the first time all evening, I felt like I could breathe.

I sank into one of the chairs by the table, pulling a book from my clutch. It was an old habit, one I’d never quite outgrown. Books had always been my escape, my way of disappearing from a world that felt too heavy, too confining. Tonight, though, even the familiar comfort of words couldn’t quiet my mind.

I tried to focus on the page in front of me, but the words blurred together, their meaning lost as my thoughts wandered. Romero’s voice echoed in my head, his leering smile, the way he’d looked at me like I was something he already owned. My fingers tightened around the book, the cover cool against my palms.

And then there was Dante.

He hadn’t spoken to me all evening. Not a word. It was as if the moment we’d shared at Adrianna’s engagement party hadn’t happened at all. But I could feel him, just as I could feel Romero. His presence was a weight in the air, a pull I couldn’t ignore no matter how hard I tried.

I hated it. Hated him. Hated the way he got under my skin, the way he made me feel things I didn’t want to feel. He was dangerous, not just because of who he was, but because of what he made me want. And yet, despite everything, I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

I turned the page of my book, though I hadn’t read a single word, and stared at the text as if it held the answers to questions I didn’t know how to ask.

The sound of footsteps behind me broke the stillness, andI stiffened, my heart skipping a beat. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The air shifted, the faint scent of smoke and whiskey wrapping around me like a second skin. Dante.

“Reading?” His voice was low, smooth, with that edge of amusement that always made my pulse race. “How very...quaint.”

I closed the book slowly, my fingers brushing the cover as I turned to face him. He was standing just inside the patio, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of whiskey. The light from the candle flickered across his face, casting shadows that only made him look more dangerous.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Needed some air.”

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