Page 83 of Made for Saints

Sliding off my stool, I ran my hands down my jeans andmade my way over, my heels clicking softly against the worn wooden floor. His eyes flicked to me as I approached, and I saw the spark of interest there, the way his posture shifted slightly as he straightened.

“Hi,” I said, my voice light and warm, the kind of tone that invited conversation without seeming desperate.

“Hi yourself,” he replied, his smile widening as he set down his pool cue. “What brings you here tonight?”

“Oh, you know,” I said with a shrug, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “Just needed a change of scenery. And you?”

“Same,” he said, his gaze flicking over me in a way that was appreciative but not lecherous. “Name’s Ryan.”

“Emily,” I lied smoothly, the fake name rolling off my tongue like second nature. It was safer that way—less chance of someone connecting me to the Ricci family.

We fell into an easy rhythm, the conversation flowing effortlessly as we exchanged pleasantries and flirted in that harmless, surface-level way. He was charming, funny even, and I found myself relaxing slightly, the tension from earlier beginning to fade.

And then I felt it.

A prickle at the back of my neck, like a warning.

"I didn't realize you had such...interestingtaste in company these days," a low, familiar voice cut in smoothly, sending a jolt through me.

I spun around, my stomach dropping. Dante.

He was standing just a few feet away, dressed casually in dark slacks and a crisp button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Despite the more relaxed attire, he still carried himself with the same commanding presence, a predator among prey. His dark eyes locked onto me with an intensity that made my breath catch, and the way his jaw tightened as his gaze flicked to Ryan made it clear he wasn’t happy.

“Friend of yours?” Ryan asked, his tone light but curious as he followed my gaze.

“Not exactly,” I muttered, my pulse quickening.

Dante moved toward us with the kind of deliberate, unhurried stride that made people instinctively get out of his way. By the time he reached us, the air between us was crackling with tension, and I could feel the weight of his presence like a physical force.

“Emily,” he said, his voice low and sharp, the fake name dripping with disdain. “What are you doing here?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Ryan beat me to it.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, his tone polite but firm as he stepped slightly closer to me, like he was ready to intervene if necessary.

Dante’s eyes flicked to him, and I saw the faintest hint of a smirk curve his lips. It wasn’t friendly.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Dante said, his tone cold and dismissive.

“Actually, it does,” Ryan said, his jaw tightening. “She’s here with me.”

Oh no.

I stepped between them quickly, placing a hand on Ryan’s arm in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “It’s fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “He’s just—”

“Leaving,” Dante interrupted, his gaze cutting to me like a blade. “Now.”

“Excuse me?” Ryan said, his voice rising slightly.

Dante didn’t even look at him. Instead, he reached for my arm, his grip firm but not painful as he pulled me away from the pool table.

“Dante!” I hissed, trying to twist out of his grasp. “Let go!”

“Not here,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and dangerous.

Dante’s grip on my arm was unyielding as he steered me through the crowded bar. I could feel the curious stares of strangers burning into my back, but no one dared to intervene. It wasn’t just his size or the sharpness in his features—it was the aura he carried, a warning that radiated from him like astorm cloud.

“Dante, stop!” I snapped, yanking my arm back. He didn’t let go, but he slowed just enough to glance over his shoulder, his dark eyes flashing with barely contained fury.

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