Page 93 of Made for Saints

When I finally stepped into the penthouse, the silence was deafening. I poured myself another glass of whiskey, sinking into the leather armchair by the window as I stared out at the city below. The dagger would be ready tomorrow, and when it was, I’d give it to her. Not as a gift, but as a warning. A reminder that this world was dangerous, and she needed to be ready for whatever came next.

Because whether she liked it or not, she was mine now. And I would do whatever it took to keep her safe—even if it meant destroying anyone who dared to come near her.

Even if it meant destroying myself.

The dagger was a masterpiece.

It sat on the black velvet in its custom box, the steel gleaming under the soft light of my office. The blade was a perfect balance of elegance and lethality, the Latin inscriptionStulta, sed vivaetched into the steel with precision, the crown engraved just above it intricate and regal. The hilt waswrapped in dark leather, the kind that would mold to her grip over time, and the guard was simple yet commanding. It wasn’t just a weapon—it was a statement.

Foolish, but alive. It described her perfectly—her recklessness, her defiance, her refusal to bow to the rules of this world. She was chaos wrapped in beauty, and somehow, she thrived in it.

She shouldn’t. She should’ve been chewed up and spit out by this life long before I ever met her. But instead, she’d walked into my world as if she belonged here, as if she owned the chaos rather than merely surviving it.

The words felt heavier now than when I’d first thought of them. They weren’t just a warning—they were a truth. She was foolish, yes, but she was also alive in a way most of us had forgotten how to be. I told myself that the dagger was for her protection, a way to keep her alive in a world that would try to devour her at the first sign of weakness. But if I was honest with myself, it was more than that.

I wanted her to have it because it was a mark of what she was becoming. Of what I was making her.

Mine.

The thought was dangerous, reckless even, but I couldn’t shake it. She’d been a storm since the moment she walked into my life, tearing through my carefully constructed walls and leaving chaos in her wake. And now, I was willingly stepping into the eye of that storm, knowing full well it could destroy me.

The Ricci estate loomed ahead, its gates opening smoothly as my car approached. The guards nodded as I passed, their expressions carefully neutral. They knew better than to question me, especially now. Word of my claim on Emilia had likely spread through the underworld like wildfire.

I parked and stepped out, the box containing the dagger tucked securely under my arm. The weight of it felt significant, like I was carrying more than just steel. I was carrying a promise, a warning, and something I wasn’t ready to name.

The house was quiet when I entered, the faint hum of conversation coming from one of the side rooms. I followed the sound, my footsteps muffled against the marble floors, until I found her.

She was in the sitting room, curled up on the couch with a book in her hands. Her hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and she was wearing one of those oversized sweaters that made her look impossibly soft and untouchable. For a moment, I just stood there, watching her, the dagger feeling heavier in my hand.

She looked up, her eyes widening slightly when she saw me. “Dante,” she said, her voice tinged with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I have something for you,” I said, stepping into the room.

She frowned, setting her book aside as she stood. “What is it?”

I held out the box, my expression unreadable. “Open it.”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking between me and the box before finally taking it. Her fingers were delicate as she lifted the lid, and when she saw what was inside, her breath hitched.

“Dante…” she whispered, her voice trailing off as she lifted the dagger from its velvet cradle. She turned it over in her hands, her fingers brushing over the inscription and the crown. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not just beautiful,” I said, my tone firm. “It’s practical. And it’s yours.”

She looked up at me, her eyes wide with something I couldn’t quite place. “Mine?”

“Yes,” I said, stepping closer. “You’re going to wear it. Every time you leave this house, it stays with you. Do you understand?”

Her brow furrowed, and for a moment, I thought she might argue. But then she nodded, her fingers tightening around the hilt. “Thank you,” she said softly.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a leather sheath, designed to be strapped discreetly to her thigh. “This goes withit. I’ll show you how to wear it.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t protest as I took the dagger from her and slid it into the sheath. I knelt in front of her, my hands steady as I secured the straps around her thigh. The air between us felt charged, every brush of my fingers against her skin sending a jolt through me.

When I finished, I looked up at her, my hands still resting lightly on her leg. “There,” I said, my voice quieter now. “It’s a perfect fit.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze locked on mine. “Why are you giving me this?””

“Because you need it,” I said simply. “And because I need to know you’re safe.”

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