Page 25 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

“Wait,” she interrupted. “I have a brother?”

“A younger brother.”

She looked past me, staring into space as she processed it all. “Who…what’s his name? How old is he?”

I frowned, reluctant to give her too much information. This wasn’t a goddamn family tree lesson. This was about getting what I wanted. But it made sense for her to want to know more about a brother she never knew. “His name is Raphael. He’s twenty years old. Turning twenty-one in a few weeks.”

Mila remained silent, her head downturned as she stared vacantly at the floor.

I tightened my arms. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.” For a few seconds, I let the heartless bastard in me take a step back and give her some time to let it all settle in. I could only imagine how confusing all of this had to be for her, but not even a sliver of compassion had the ability to stop me from pursuing my ultimate goal.

To my surprise, she lifted her head and looked right at me, no trace of sadness, and a complete lack of emotion. “What else?”

I smirked. “You’re a tough one, aren’t you?”

“What. Else?”

I inhaled deeply, becoming more intrigued by this woman with every passing second. “Your brother will receive his forty-six percent shares left to him in your father’s will when he turns twenty-one.”

She shrugged. “Makes sense. I still don’t understand what the hell all this has to do with us getting married.”

“It seems there’s a little loophole of sorts in your father’s will.”

“What loophole?”

I took another sip of bourbon and allowed it to rest on my tongue, savoring the smooth taste before swallowing. “There’s another beneficiary who inherits ten percent of the company’s shares.”

Her eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Who is this beneficiary?”

It was impossible not to smirk like a sly bastard. This next part would be the real curveball—not just to her, but to a lot of other people who thought that will and testament was as simple as black and white. I shot her a pensive look. “Your father’s firstborn child.”

It took a few moments of utter silence for that to sink in—for the true meaning of that statement to make sense to her. And I saw the exact moment the penny dropped, her green eyes going from narrow to wide—her expression from confused to clear realization.

“Me,” she whispered.

I didn’t respond. There was no need to. I kept my distance, studying her in silence while she slowly placed one and one together.

“Oh, my God, that’s it…isn’t it?” Wild curls fell over her shoulders as she tilted her head, and I could see realization dawned on her. “You want my ten percent?”

I clapped my hands in a mocking applause. “You’re a smart one, too.” I tossed back the last of my drink. “That didn’t take you very long.”

“I’m not marrying you, Saint.” The way she watched me with a glint of defiance in her eyes, how she pursed her plump lips, it amused me. It made me wonder how far I would have to go to break her. To make her lose her fight and submit. For me, the hunt was far more enticing than the kill, and something told me Mila would have made for an interesting and tempting hunt.

While we stared at each other, both refusing to look away, the air between us became thick with tension that could snap at any second. It was thrilling—for me.

Not once did she take her eyes off me, her strength beaming from those emerald irises. “Do you understand? I’m not. Marrying you,” she said without blinking.

I snorted, fully entertained by the dark-haired princess’s naivety. “You will,” I stated simply. “You will marry me.”

“There’s not a fucking chance in hell that’s happening.”

“Watch your goddamn mouth.”

“Fuck you!”

I launched forward, and with the flick of my wrist I had my hand around her throat, my fingers digging into her jaw, holding her in place. “Do not disrespect me. Ever. I’ve been lenient up until now, but no more,” I snarled, glaring down at her as I slowly forced her back. “You will marry me, and I will get what I want.”

Her nostrils flared and eyes narrowed with a deadly glare. “I won’t do it.”

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