Page 84 of Made for Saints

“Keep walking, Emilia,” he said, his voice low and cold. “Unless you want to make a scene.”

“Are you kidding me? You just dragged me away from—” I stopped myself before I could finish. What exactly had Ryan been to me? A distraction? A mark? It didn’t matter now. Dante had seen to that.

He didn’t respond, his jaw tight as he pushed open the bar’s back door and pulled me into the alley. The cool night air hit me like a slap, a stark contrast to the heat simmering between us. The faint hum of the city buzzed in the background—distant car horns, muffled laughter, the occasional clatter of trash cans—but it all felt muted compared to the pounding of my heart.

Dante finally released my arm, but he didn’t step back. He loomed over me, his broad shoulders blocking out the dim glow of the streetlights, his expression a mix of anger and something else I couldn’t quite place.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

I crossed my arms over my chest, more to steady myself than anything else. “I was thinking I could go out for a drink without being interrogated like a child.”

“Inenemy territory?” he shot back, his voice rising. “Do you have any idea where you are? Who owns that bar?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. “Enemy territory? What are you talking about?”

Dante let out a sharp, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you don’t know. Why would you? You’re too busy playing your little games to realize how dangerous this city is.”

“Dangerous?” I repeated, my frustration bubbling over. “The only danger I’ve encountered tonight is you!”

He stepped closer, his dark eyes narrowing. “Do you even carry a weapon?” he asked, his voice low and biting. “Do you have any way to defend yourself?”

I hesitated, the question catching me off guard. “I...no,” I admitted reluctantly. “I don’t need—”

“You don’t need one?” he interrupted, his voice incredulous. “Jesus Christ, Emilia. Do you have any idea how reckless you’re being? Walking into a bar owned by the Russians, flirting with God knows who, completely unarmed?”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words caught in my throat. Russians. The word hung heavy in the air between us, and suddenly, the tension in Dante’s posture made sense.

“I didn’t know,” I said quietly, my voice losing some of its edge. “How was I supposed to know?”

“You weren’t supposed to be there at all,” he snapped, his tone softening just slightly. “Do you think this is a game? That you can just waltz into places like that and walk away unscathed?”

I looked away, my cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and anger. “I didn’t ask for your help, Dante.”

“No, but you clearly need it,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “And until you figure out how to stop putting yourself in danger, I’m going to make damn sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

I scoffed, shaking my head.

“You’re reckless,” he shot back, his gaze piercing. “Do you even know how to shoot a gun?”

I hesitated, the question catching me off guard. “No,” I admitted reluctantly.

Dante let out a sharp exhale, his jaw tightening. “Of course you don’t,” he muttered under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

I bristled at his tone, my frustration bubbling over. “I don’t need a gun, okay? I’m not some soldier in your mafia war.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “But you’re a Ricci, and that makes you a target whether you like it or not.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of Dante’s words pressing down on me. A target. I hated that he was right, hated that my last name came with strings I couldn’t see and dangers I didn’t understand. But more than anything, I hated the way he said it, like I was some helpless little girl who needed his protection.

“I can take care of myself,” I said, lifting my chin in defiance.

Dante’s laugh was sharp and humorless, cutting through the cool night air. “Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re doing a pretty shitty job of it.”

My fists clenched at my sides, anger flaring hot and bright in my chest. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Dante. Or your help. So why don’t you just—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, stepping closer. His voice dropped, low and dangerous, and the intensity in his eyes made my breath hitch. “Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if I wasn’t there tonight? Do you know who that man you were flirting with works for?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Ryan? He’s just some guy—”

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