Page 95 of Made for Saints

I stepped into the room, the emerald-green dress clinging to me like a second skin, and immediately felt the weight of a hundred eyes. Whispers followed me like shadows, and I could feel the speculative glances of men and women alike. I hated it. And yet, a small, defiant part of me relished it. Let them look. Let them talk. I wasn’t just Vincent Ricci’s daughter tonight—I was something more. Something dangerous.

Dante’s presence beside me was both a comfort and a curse. He walked with the kind of confidence that turnedheads, his dark suit tailored to perfection, his every movement deliberate and commanding. He didn’t touch me, but his proximity was enough to make it clear to anyone paying attention that I wasn’t here alone. And judging by the way the whispers grew louder as we passed, plenty of people were paying attention.

“Relax,” Dante murmured, his voice low and smooth as he leaned toward me. “You look like you’re ready to bolt.”

“I’m fine,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “Just...not a fan of being on display.”

His lips curved into a faint smirk, and he straightened, his dark eyes scanning the room. “You’ll get used to it.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and took a sip, letting the crisp bubbles settle my nerves. Dante led me further into the ballroom, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back—a gesture that was as possessive as it was protective. I hated how much I liked it.

The first half hour passed in a blur of introductions and polite conversation. Dante was the perfect picture of charm, his deep voice and sharp wit disarming even the most skeptical of my father’s associates. I played my part, smiling and nodding at the right moments, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t stop thinking about the dagger strapped to my thigh, the cool steel pressing against my skin, a secret reminder of the man standing beside me.

It wasn’t until I felt a hand on my arm that I snapped back to reality.

“Emilia,” a voice purred, smooth and unctuous. “You look stunning tonight.”

I turned to find Romero standing far too close, his dark eyes raking over me with a familiarity that made my skin crawl. He was handsome in a way that felt calculated, his sharp features and perfectly styled hair giving him the appearance of a man who spent more time in front of a mirror than was strictly necessary. I’d never liked him, and his reputation as awomanizer only made him more insufferable.

“Romero,” I said coolly, taking a step back to put some distance between us. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

“Of course I’m here,” he said, flashing me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t miss the chance to see you, after all.”

I forced a tight smile, my grip tightening on my champagne flute.

Romero chuckled, his gaze lingering on the neckline of my dress. “You’ve outdone yourself tonight, Emilia. That dress...it’s almost criminal.”

Before I could respond, Dante’s voice cut through the conversation like a blade.

“Romero.”

The single word was enough to make Romero stiffen, his smile faltering as he turned to face Dante. The tension between them was palpable, the air charged with an unspoken challenge. Dante’s dark eyes were cold, his jaw tight, and the faint smirk that played on his lips was anything but friendly.

“Dante,” Romero said, his tone losing some of its earlier confidence. “I didn’t see you there.”

“You weren’t looking,” Dante replied smoothly, stepping closer. His presence was overwhelming, a storm rolling in, and I could feel the shift in the room as people began to take notice.

Romero’s gaze flicked between us, and I saw the moment he realized his mistake. He raised his hands in mock surrender, his smile returning but with none of its earlier bravado. “No harm meant, of course. Just catching up with an old friend.”

Dante didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached for my champagne flute, plucking it from my hand and taking a deliberate sip before handing it back to me. The gesture was casual, almost lazy, but the message was clear.

“She’s not your friend,” Dante said finally, his voice low and deliberate, each word slicing through the air like a dagger. His dark eyes never left Romero’s, and the tension between them was thick enough to suffocate.

Romero’s smile wavered for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, his charm slipping back into place like a well-worn mask. “Of course not,” he said smoothly, his tone oozing false sincerity. “I only meant—”

“You meant to overstep,” Dante interrupted, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of menace that made my pulse quicken. “And now you’re done.”

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and anger bubbling to the surface. This wasn’t happening. Dante wasn’t about to turn a minor annoyance into a full-blown spectacle in the middle of Adrianna’s engagement party. Not here. Not tonight.

“Dante,” I said sharply, my voice cutting through the tension like a whip. “That’s enough.”

His gaze flicked to mine, and for a moment, I thought he might ignore me. But then something shifted in his expression—just a flicker of restraint, like a leash being yanked taut. He stepped back, his posture still radiating dominance, but the storm in his eyes had dimmed slightly.

Romero took the opportunity to retreat, offering me a tight smile before disappearing into the crowd. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my shoulders sagging with relief. But the reprieve was short-lived.

“What the hell was that?” I hissed, turning to Dante. “You can’t just—”

He cut me off with a sharp look, his voice low and controlled. “He was disrespecting you.”

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