Page 65 of Made for Saints

“What about her?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

Luca hesitated, and that alone was enough to set me on edge. He wasn’t the type to mince words, not with me. If he was pausing, it meant he was debating how much to tell me.

“She’s been asking about the annual visit,” he said finally, his tone careful. “Wants to know if she can come here this time. To the city.”

“No.” The word left my mouth before he’d even finished speaking, my tone flat and final.

Luca sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Dante—”

“No,” I repeated, cutting him off. “She’s not coming here.”

“She’s eighteen now,” Luca pointed out, his voice calm but insistent. “She’s not a kid anymore. She’s curious. She wants to see where we live, what we do.”

“What we do?” I echoed, my voice hard. “You want to explain to her what we do, Luca? You want to tell her why we can afford to send her to that fancy boarding school? Why she gets to live in a bubble while we’re out here cleaning up messes and burying bodies?”

Luca’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “She doesn’t need to know the details. She just wants to visit. Spend time with us. Is that so unreasonable?”

“Yes,” I said bluntly. “It is. The second she steps foot in this city, she’s in danger. She’s safe where she is. She doesn’t need to know about this life. She doesn’t need to see it.”

“She’s going to figure it out eventually,” Luca said quietly. “You can’t protect her forever.”

“Watch me,” I snapped, my voice low and cold. “She’s not coming here, Luca. End of discussion.”

Luca studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “Fine. I’ll tell her no.”

“Good,” I said, taking a sip of my wine to mask the anger still simmering beneath the surface. “Make sure she understands it’s not up for debate.”

Luca didn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting to the window as he swirled the wine in his glass. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost contemplative.

“She’s going to hate us for this, you know.”

“She can hate me all she wants,” I said, my tone hard. “As long as she’s alive to do it.”

The words hung heavy in the air between us, a stark reminder of the line we’d drawn between Sofia and the rest of the family. She didn’t know about the blood, the deals, the betrayals that kept her world spinning. And I intended to keep it that way, no matter what it cost me.

Luca sighed again, draining the rest of his wine in one long swallow. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” I said dryly, signaling for the check.

When I pulled up to the venue to pick her up, she was already waiting outside, her arms crossed and her expression guarded. The pale blue dress still clung to her like a second skin, and I felt my pulse quicken despite myself.

She climbed into the car without a word, her movements stiff and deliberate. I could feel the tension radiating off her, but I didn’t say anything. Not yet.

As I pulled away from the curb, I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. “Have fun?”

She shot me a withering look. “It was fine.”

“Just fine?” I said, smirking. “I thought bridal showers were supposed to be exciting. Champagne, gossip, embarrassing stories about the bride-to-be…”

“Not everyone finds gossip as entertaining as you do,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

I chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Touché.”

The rest of the drive was quiet, the tension between us crackling like a live wire. But as I pulled into the driveway of the Ricci estate, I couldn’t resist one last jab.

“Be ready at eight tomorrow,” I said as she opened the door. “We’ve got business to attend to.”

She paused, her hand on the door handle, and turned to look at me, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not my boss, Dante.”

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