Page 121 of Made for Saints

I bristled at his tone, my hurt giving way to anger. “Try me,” I said, tilting my chin up defiantly. “You might be surprised at what I can understand.”

A bitter laugh escaped him, low and humorless, and he shook his head. “You think this is a game, don’t you?” he said, his voice dropping to a near growl. “You think you can just waltz into my world, play your little games, and walk away unscathed?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “What are you talking about?” I asked, my confusion mounting. “I haven’t—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through me like awhip. “Don’t stand there and pretend you’re innocent.”

My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears like a drum. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working,” I said, though the tremor in my voice betrayed me.

Dante’s eyes bore into mine, dark and unrelenting, and for a moment, I thought he might actually tell me. But then he looked away, his jaw tightening as he took another sip of his drink. “It’s better if you don’t know,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

“Better...For me? Or for you?” I demanded, my voice rising.

He didn’t answer, his silence more damning than any words could have been. My chest tightened, and I felt the sting of tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, though I refused to let them fall. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“So what,” I said, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “One minute, you’re telling me I’m yours, and the next, you’re pushing me away like I’m some kind of burden. Which is it, Dante? What do you want from me?”

His gaze snapped back to mine, and for the first time that night, I saw the cracks in his armor—the flicker of something raw and unguarded that he was trying so desperately to hide. It was there for only a moment, a brief glimpse of vulnerability beneath the cold, unyielding exterior he wore like a shield. But then it was gone, swallowed up by the storm in his eyes, and I was left wondering if I’d imagined it.

"I'm not in the mood, Emilia."

"Clearly."

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head as he looked away.

“What Iwant?” His voice rose, the storm in his eyes erupting as he stepped closer, his presence looming over me. “I want you to stop asking questions you don’t want the answers to. I want you to stop looking at me like I’m some kind of savior. I’m not a good man, Emilia. I never have been, and I never will be.”

“You’re making a scene,” I hissed, glancing around theroom. My voice was low, but the sharpness in it cut through the tension between us like a blade. The last thing I needed was Adrianna or my father noticing Dante’s sudden outburst. The ballroom was a sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits, and while most of the guests were too engrossed in their own conversations to notice us, a few curious glances were already flicking in our direction.

Dante didn’t seem to care. If anything, my words only seemed to fuel the fire burning behind his eyes. He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me, and I felt the heat of his presence like a physical weight. His jaw tightened, the muscle there ticking as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.

“Let them look,” he said, his tone laced with defiance.

The words hit me like a slap, but I refused to back down. “You don’t get to decide what I see in you,” I said, my voice trembling. “You don’t get to tell me how to feel.”

He scoffed, his lips curling into a cruel, mocking smile. “Feelings,” he said, the word dripping with disdain. “You think this is about feelings? Let me make something very clear to you. People like me don’t get the luxury of feelings. Love, trust, whatever fairy-tale bullshit you’re imagining—it doesn’t exist in my world. Stop trying to force it where it doesn’t belong.”

My throat tightened, but I forced the words out anyway. “Then why do you keep coming back to me? Why do you kiss me like you mean it? Why do you act like I’m the only thing keeping you from falling apart if none of this matters to you?”

His eyes blazed, his control slipping as he stepped even closer, his voice a low growl. “Because you are the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and I hate it,” he spat, the words venomous. “I hate what you do to me, how you make me feel weak. I hate that I can’t fucking breathe when you’re not around. Is that what you wanted to hear, Emilia? That you’ve ruined me?”

I stared at him, stunned, my heart pounding in my chest.

I swallowed hard, my pulse racing as his words sank in. The intensity in his gaze was almost too much to bear, and I found myself taking an involuntary step back, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. But Dante followed, closing the distance between us as if he couldn’t bear to let me go.

“You’re being ridiculous,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though the tremor in it betrayed me. “I haven’t done anything to you. If you’re angry, fine. But don’t take it out on me.”

His lips curved into a bitter smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “You think this is about anger?” he asked, his voice dripping with disdain. “You think I’m just throwing a tantrum because I had a bad day?”

“Then tell me what it’s about!” I shot back, my frustration bubbling over. “Stop talking in riddles and just say it, Dante. Whatever it is, just—”

“I can’t,” he snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. His hand shot out, gripping my wrist with just enough force to make me freeze. His touch wasn’t painful, but it was firm, grounding, and I felt the weight of his words settle over me like a shroud.

The warmth of his hand on my wrist sent a jolt through me, but it wasn’t the kind of warmth that comforted. It was the kind that burned, the kind that left scars. His grip wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but it was firm enough to keep me rooted in place, his dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"Let go of me." The words hung in the air between us, sharp and jagged, cutting deeper than any blade could. Dante’s grip on my wrist loosened slightly, just enough for me to pull free if I wanted to, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My body betrayed me, rooted to the spot as his dark eyes bore into mine, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths—anger, frustration, pain, and something else I couldn’t quite name.

“Let go of me,” I said again, my voice quieter this time, trembling under the weight of his gaze. “You’ve made it very clear who I am to you tonight, Dante. I don’t need to hear any more.”

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