Page 50 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

“I can’t do this,” I sobbed. “I can’t fight him anymore.”

Elena leaned back to look at me. “Then don’t.” She wiped a lingering tear from my face. “Don’t fight him anymore. Save your strength. Use it wisely and fight only the battles you know you can win.”

I balked and inched back. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that there are still a lot of battles you will have to face, battles you will need to win. But Marcello isn’t one of them.”

“How can you say that? He is not only a battle, Elena. He’s full-on, raging war.”

“Exactly. Think about it, Mila.” She wrapped her fingers around my shoulders. “Would you rather have him as an enemy you know you can never beat? Or as an ally who can win you a thousand wars?”

I continued to stare at her, allowing her words to settle in my mind as I tried to make sense of it.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Elena continued, her voice soft, almost musical. “You look at him with hate, with anger. But not at him. It’s not him you hate, or he who angers you. You’re angry at yourself. You hate yourself…for not hating him.”

“That’s not true.” I stepped back and sat on the king-sized bed, placing my palms on the silk sheets. “Whatever you think you saw is not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. It’s not.” The edge in my voice was laced with conviction. “It’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.” She sat beside me, the mattress not even moving under her tiny frame. “I know this because I was once where you are now.”

My eyes snapped up to hers in surprise.

“Thirty-two years ago, I was forced to marry a man I could hardly look at. A man who I thought was incapable of love, who would only use me. Like you, I fought him every step of the way. I refused to give in.” She turned her gaze toward the window. “Until one day I realized I was wasting my strength fighting something I couldn’t change.” She turned back to face me, her expression soft. “Instead of fighting, I allowed myself to fall for my husband and to be happy. It’s the best thing I ever could have done.”

It was in her eyes. I could see it. The love. The happiness. The fulfillment. There was no trace of any regret or resentment.

“You fell in love with him?”

She nodded with a smile. “Deeply.”

“Did he love you back?”

She glanced to the side and shrugged. “I think so. I had three miscarriages before I realized I’d never be able to give my husband an heir. I was sure I’d lose him.”

“Over something you had no control over?”

“Having a child and continuing their legacy is one of the most important things for a man who comes from a powerful family. Especially the firstborn son. But Alfonso stayed with me, supported me,” she glanced in my direction, “won wars for me until the day he died.”

She took a deep breath, as if steeling herself against the heartache. I was so captivated by her story that I didn’t even realize I had stopped crying. That my heart no longer raced with fear or anguish.

“Well, I’ll let you get some sleep.” She placed a chaste kiss against my temple and straightened. “Think about what I said. I can promise you, once you learn how to figure out which battles you can win, your life will be much easier.”

The click of her heels resounded, and I turned as she reached the door. “Six months.”

She stilled.

“He said he’ll let me go after six months.”

Her blonde hair ruffled as she looked at me over her shoulder. “Question is, will you want to go?” The weight of her words lingered when she left and closed the door behind her. I wished what she said made no sense, but it did. Earlier, when he had me pinned over the dining table, my dress bunched up around my waist, his hand between my legs—I felt it. I felt the pull, the anticipation, the fire. It threatened to burn me to ash if it wasn’t doused with release. Tears didn’t flow from my eyes because of what he was doing to me, but rather because of what I was doing to myself. I was torturing my own body by refusing to acknowledge what it really wanted. Him.

It made me feel rotten, as if the lechery festered in my core because it was wrong. It was wrong for me to want him in that way, wrong for me to yearn for his touch. The mind wasn’t meant to fight the body. It wasn’t strong enough to conquer the body’s most primal desires and carnal instincts. The clash between the two had cracked my soul, and it wept the tears that still stained the white oak.

The longer I lay there thinking about what happened, remembering how high I was on the ecstasy that still lingered in my veins, the more I realized Elena might be right. Maybe I was fighting the wrong battle. Maybe I was I wasting my strength on a war I simply couldn’t win.

Maybe it was time for me to let go of Mila and embrace my new identity as Milana Katarina Russo.

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