Page 39 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

“On the contrary,” I rubbed my hands together like a devil who was about to snatch a soul, “I can do whatever the fuck I want. And if you really care about those children and this dream orphanage of yours, you’ll sacrifice six months of your life. I mean,” I shot her a devilish smile, “what is a few months of your life if it means putting a smile on so many little faces in the future?”

The power of manipulation. Some saw it as a form of witchcraft. I saw it as an easy way to always get what I wanted. And right now, it seemed Mila was something I wanted.

“What will it be, Mila?”

The way she glared at me, her cold green eyes practically slicing the skin off my face, was amusing as fuck. I liked the way she loathed me, the way her hatred for me oozed out of her pores. It consumed her; I consumed her. And it fucking made my dick hard.

I stood while Mila continued to glare at me, probably weighing her options—which she didn’t have a lot of.

It took a few seconds of stare-off between us before she nodded her agreement—reluctantly, I might add. “You’re the devil, you know that?” she bit out.

“Don’t fool yourself.” I stepped closer and cupped her cheek. “The devil doesn’t compare.”

15

Mila

I wishedI could have said I prevailed at being stubborn by refusing to eat his food. But, unfortunately for me, I was human, and I was fucking starving. So, I ate. I ate every little crumb on my plate. I did ignore him, though. Completely. Like the bastard wasn’t even there.

Whether I made a mistake by bargaining with him remained to be seen. I chose to ignore the gnawing warning that scratched against my spine telling me any kind of deal with Saint was like handing your soul to the devil on a silver platter. But if I was about to sign my shares in a company I didn’t even know existed over to him, I sure as hell needed to get something out of it, too.

An opportunity was what Elena called it. One could argue she was merely trying to let me see the perks of living in luxury and not having to scrape together every penny in order to survive. But I knew better. She had planted that little seed in my head on purpose and hoped it would grow. I hoped it wouldn’t grow into a huge pain in my ass.

The shutters of the dining room windows had been closed, just like the ones in my bedroom. Clearly, Saint was trying to keep something hidden. That something being me. It was just like my luck I landed up in Italy yet was unable to see any of it. At least there was a huge painting of the Colosseum against the wall across from me, which was probably as close as I would come to seeing one of Italy’s famous landmarks.

While chewing on fresh fruit, I kept on staring at the painting. The different shades of blue used in the sky above the oval structure was almost the same as the hues in Saint’s eyes. There were no clouds, an obvious summer day, but there was something dark about the background sky. Like there was a storm brewing, the corners shaded from a bright blue to a subtle gray. The dark brown colors of what was left of the Colosseum were all tones of darkness, as if whoever painted the picture wasn’t trying to make it seem magnificent as the world made it out to be—but rather to show its ruins, the broken parts, the chaos that demolished it. The ugliness of what used to take place within its walls. I didn’t think it was possible for architecture to seem lonely. But in this painting, it seemed desolate. Forsaken, yet beautiful in its imperfection.

Saint placed his napkin on the table and stood. “Aunt Elena will help you pack.”

“Pack?” I stared at him, confused.

“We’re leaving today.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” He glanced at Elena. “Make sure she wears a large enough hat to cover most of her face for our brief appearance. Last thing we need is for vultures to identify her.”

“Excuse me.” I held up my hand, but he ignored me and stomped out of the dining room. I looked at Elena. “What vultures?”

Elena got up. “He means paparazzi.”

“What? What paparazzi?”

“The Russo family is very powerful here in Italy. And not only is Marcello a Russo, he’s also a very attractive and wealthy man. So, naturally, the tabloids love him here.”

I almost laughed out loud. “Do they know he’s a cold-blooded killer and kidnapper?”

The friendly expression Elena seemed to always carry instantly fell, replaced with anger, her eyes firm and hard. “I’ve been kind to you, Mila. But I will not allow you to speak of my nephew in such a manner. Understood?”

“He kidnapped me. Surely, you can’t expect me to talk of him with respect.” I stood from my chair, never taking my eyes off her. “I’m not here because I want to be. I’m here because he brought me here against my will.”

Elena leaned with her hands on the table, inching closer as determination radiated from her dark chocolate irises. “Stop seeing this as a punishment. See it as a—”

“Opportunity?” I interrupted. “See it as an opportunity?”

“As a way to finally live the life that had been taken away from you. This is your chance to be who you were born to be.” She straightened then pulled her fingers gently through the loose blonde strands of her hair, like she was trying to compose herself. “Now, come. We need to prepare.”

“For what?”

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