Page 96 of Made for Saints

“I can handle myself,” I snapped, my frustration boiling over. “I don’t need you swooping in like some kind of knight in shining armor.”

Dante’s lips twitched into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. “You didn’t look like you were handling it.”

My spine straightened, defiance sparking in my chest. “You gave me a dagger for a reason, didn’t you?”

The words hung between us, sharp and cutting, daring him to challenge me. His eyes locked onto mine, and for asplit second, I thought I’d won. But then, slowly, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating in the most maddening way.

“And where is it now?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.

The heat of him was almost unbearable as he closed the space between us, his hand reaching out deliberately. My breath hitched when his fingers brushed against the fabric of my dress, skimming the outside of my thigh. He didn’t stop there, his touch sliding higher, up the slit of my dress, until his hand met the cool steel of the dagger strapped to my leg.

“Right where it should be,” I said, my voice steady despite the way my pulse raced.

Dante’s gaze darkened, his fingers lingering over the hilt of the dagger, his thumb grazing the edge of the sheath like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. “Good,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “But don’t forget how to use it.”

My body felt like it was vibrating, every nerve on edge as his hand stayed there, pressing lightly against my skin. I hated how easily he could do this—how he could make me feel both cornered and electrified, like I was teetering on a knife’s edge.

“I don’t need to be saved,” I said, my voice softer now but no less firm.

His lips curved into a shadow of a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Who said anything about saving you, princess?”

And just like that, his hand slipped away, leaving a trail of warmth in its absence. He stepped back, his gaze still fixed on mine as though daring me to say more. ”At least now I know you’re armed.”

My jaw tightened, and I took a step closer, my anger flaring. “You don’t get to decide how I handle things. You don’t get to treat me like...like I’m some possession you have to guard.”

His smirk faded, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. “I’m not treating you like a possession, Emilia. I’mprotecting you.”

“From what?” I shot back, my voice rising. “A harmless flirtation? A man who was barely even—”

“From men like him,” Dante said, his voice dropping to a near growl. “Men who see you as a prize to be won. Men who don’t know when to stop.”

The intensity in his gaze made my breath catch, and for a moment, I couldn’t find the words to argue. There was something raw in his expression, something that went beyond anger or jealousy. It was possessive, yes, but it was also...vulnerable. Like the thought of me being hurt—by anyone—was unbearable to him.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “You can’t just...claim me like that,” I said quietly, my voice losing some of its edge. “I’m not yours, Dante.”

His jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, his dark eyes shining with something raw and unspoken. “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice breaking on the edges of a whisper. “You’ve been mine since the moment you walked into my life. And I’m not letting you go.”

The air between us crackled with tension, the space between our bodies shrinking until I could feel the heat radiating off him. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it, and the weight of his words settled over me like a storm cloud, heavy and inescapable.

Before I could respond, the music shifted, a slow, sultry melody filling the room. Dante’s gaze didn’t waver as he extended a hand, his fingers steady and commanding. “Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a command, wrapped in velvet and laced with steel. And despite every instinct screaming at me to walk away, I found myself taking his hand.

He led me to the center of the ballroom, where other couples were already swaying to the music. The crowd seemed to part for us, like the universe itself was conspiring to put us on display. Dante’s hand settled on my waist, his touch firm butnot forceful, and he pulled me closer until there was barely an inch of space between us.

“You’re making a scene,” I muttered, my voice barely audible over the music.

“Good,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Let them see.”

“See what?” I asked, my pulse quickening as his hand slid a fraction lower on my waist. His dark eyes burned into mine, and for a moment, I thought he might actually say it—that he wanted everyone to see that I was his, that I belonged to him. But instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he spoke in a voice so low it sent a shiver down my spine.

“That you’re untouchable.”

I stiffened, pulling back just enough to look at him, irritation bubbling to the surface. “Oh, I’m untouchable now?” I said, my voice laced with annoyance. “Because you’ve spent the entire time I’ve known you telling me I’m not. That I think I’m invincible but I’m not.”

His grip on my waist tightened, his fingers pressing into the fabric of my dress with enough force to hold me in place. His jaw flexed as he stared down at me, his dark eyes sharp and unyielding.

“That’s the difference,” he said, his voice cutting through the space between us. “You’re not invincible when you’re alone, running around acting like a fool. But when you’re with me?” He leaned closer, his tone dipping lower, dangerous. “You’re untouchable.”

---