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

Saint

The second thatelevator door opened and I looked into her striking green eyes, I knew this night would end with bloodshed. His blood—the man standing next to her clutching her hand like he owned her. But he didn’t. I knew that. He knew that. Unfortunately, she didn’t.

I watched her step into the foyer, her dark curls a wet mess from the rain. If I hadn’t already known the balance of her bank account, I would have been able to guess it by merely looking at her clothes. The tight jeans she wore were torn at the knees, and her white sneakers were stained and soaked. With her every step, I kept my gaze pinned on her. Watching her. Scrutinizing every feature, her every move. The way she glanced around the penthouse suite, her eyes wide and curious, her blush pink lips parted as she took in the luxuries and elegance of what my wealth could afford, was proof she wasn’t from a world where money and power determined alliances, demanded respect, and ruled every pawn.

Myworld.

Her innocence cloaked her like a shroud of virtue, yet her squared shoulders showcased an inner confidence which the black Lakers shirt did not reflect. Her wardrobe gave away her youth, and her curiosity proved just how naïve she was.

The man beside her spotted me immediately, rushing in my direction, far too damn eager to extend his hand. “Mr. Saint. It’s good to finally meet you.”

I dismissed his attempt at a handshake with a mere nod, and he stepped back, wiping his hand down the side of his jeans before placing a hand on his top jacket pocket. “My name is Brad. Mr. Reed sent me to deliver the package.”

“I know who you are. And I know exactly why you’re here.” I signaled for James, my right-hand man, to refill my glass with bourbon before turning my attention back to Brad. “You made sure no one followed you here?”

He nodded. “I made sure of it.”

My gaze drifted back to the raven-haired woman next to him. There was nothing extraordinary about her features. Nothing that would make her stand out from the crowd—except those forest green irises that came alive under the dim lights.

“Introduce me to your friend, Mr. Walters.”

Brad cleared his throat and placed his hand on her elbow. “This is Mila.”

I slanted a brow when she took a step forward, extending her hand, her smile polite and warm. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Saint.”

This time I decided to play nice by reaching out and taking her hand. It was our first touch, and I smiled because I knew it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

“Mila. Is that short for another name?” I let go of her hand and sat back. “Milana, perhaps?”

“Um, no. It’s just Mila.” Her cheeks flushed a faint rose tint, and it made me wonder what her skin would look like colored with a deeper shade of red left by my hand.

I reached for my tumbler of bourbon and righted in my seat. “No one knows you’re here?” My question was directed at Brad, which he answered immediately.

“No, Mr. Saint.”

“I trust you’ve been discreet about the nature of the item you’re delivering?”

“Of course.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Mila frown. It was easy to spot her discomfort slowly setting in. A half-smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as she started to squirm, our little conversation making her uncomfortable.

I turned my attention back to the dirty-blond waste of space. “And now I suppose you’re expecting payment for your delivery.”

Brad grinned. “Anything will be appreciated, Mr. Saint.”

I tapped my finger on the chair armrest, knowing he was already thinking of all the cocaine and whores he could buy from our little business transaction. He was nothing but a pathetic excuse for a man who had zero ambition apart from getting high and fucking his way through life. But the rules had been explained to him in a way even he could understand.Do not touch what is mine. And lucky for him, he didn’t.

I nodded, placed my glass down on the side table, and stood, straightening my Armani suit before reaching inside my pocket for his payment. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Brad.”

* * *

MILA

Fifteen Minutes earlier

“Wow.” I craned my neck, looking up at the ceiling of one of New York’s most expensive luxury hotels. “I wish you told me we’d be coming here.”

“Why? Would you have put extra effort in your wardrobe if I did?”

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