Page 58 of Made for Saints

It wasn’t just bad luck. This was something worse. It was like the universe had decided to dangle danger in front of me, daring me to take the bait. And, stupidly, I had.

I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding in my ears. Of all the people I could’ve pickpocketed tonight, it had to be someone tied to him. Every instinct screamed at me to toss the card holder away, to leave it there on the bar and walk out like nothing had happened. But my fingers wouldn’t let go.

I glanced back at the group, my movements stiff and mechanical, my heart hammering against my ribs. They were still laughing, still oblivious. Rocco was leaning against the bar, gesturing animatedly, completely unaware that his wallet was no longer in his pocket. For now.

But they always noticed eventually. Men like him, men like Dante—they didn’t just lose things. They didn’t let things go.

Thank fuck Rocco seemed drunker than Dante had been when I took his watch. He wouldn't notice right away.

My chest tightened as a wave of panic flared. I needed to fix this—now.

Sliding the card holder back into my bag, I flagged down the bartender with a forced smile, though my fingers were already trembling. “Hey,” I said, keeping my voice light even as my throat felt like it was closing up. “I think someone dropped this. Can you make sure it gets back to them?”

The bartender barely glanced at me as he nodded, taking the card holder from my hand and tucking it behind the bar. I muttered a quick thanks and turned on my heel, leaving before anyone could stop me.

The second I stepped outside, the cool night air hit my face, but it did nothing to soothe the knot twisting in my stomach. My pulse was still racing, my breath uneven as I slipped into the shadows and disappeared into the night. But no matter how far I walked, the weight in my chest remained.

Because this wasn’t just about a stolen card holder anymore. It wasn’t about the money or the thrill of the theft. This was about him. About Dante.

I couldn’t stop the memory of his face from flashing in my mind: sharp jawline, dark, fathomless eyes, and that smirk—the one that made him look like he owned the world and everything in it, including me. He was tall, dark, and handsome in the most maddening way, but there was something more to him, something dangerous that made my skin crawl and heat all at once.

And now I’d stolen from his family.

What would he do if he found out? My stomach churned with the thought, a sickening mix of fear and something I didn’t want to name. Dante wasn’t the kind of man who forgave mistakes. He wasn’t the kind of man who accepted excuses.

I’d seen it firsthand—the way he dealt with mistakes. There was no room for second chances, no room for negotiation. The memory of his words came rushing back, sharp and unrelenting. “Killing him was the message.” That’swhat he’d said about Mario. It hadn’t been about the twenty million. It hadn’t even been about loyalty. It had been about power. About sending a warning to anyone who dared cross him.

“There’s always a cost, Emilia,” he’d said, his voice soft but cutting. “The question is whether you’re willing to pay it.”

And now, I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what the cost would be for me.

“Stupid,” I muttered under my breath, my hands clenching at my sides as I quickened my pace. My heels clicked against the pavement, the sound too loud, too sharp in the quiet night. What had I been thinking?

But that was the problem—I hadn’t been thinking. I’d been reckless, letting myself get swept up in the thrill of the game, the rush of adrenaline that came with taking what didn’t belong to me. And now, I was paying the price.

I turned a corner, slipping into an alley and leaning back against the cold brick wall as I called my Uber praying the wait was enough time for my escape.

By the time I returned home, the adrenaline had worn off, replaced by a gnawing sense of dread. I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto my bed, burying my face in the pillow as a scream tore from my throat.

This wasn’t how my life was supposed to be. I was twenty-five years old, and I felt like a caged animal, trapped by rules and expectations that weren’t even my own.

And then there was Dante.

The memory of his arranged marriage surfaced, unbidden and unwelcome. Everyone whispered about how he’d killed his ex-fiancée, though no one dared to say it to his face. It was a story I’d heard a dozen times, each version more chilling than the last.

What if my father was keeping him around for me?

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. As the only daughter in the Ricci family, I’d always known my marriage would be a transaction, a way to strengthen alliances or securepower. Women in our world didn’t get to choose—not really. And at twenty-five, I was already past the age where most women were married off.

But Dante?

I couldn’t decide if the idea terrified me or thrilled me.

I groaned, flipping onto my back and staring at the ceiling. My thoughts were a tangled mess, a chaotic swirl of fear, desire, and frustration. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get him out of my head.

Chapter 21

Emilia

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