Page 31 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

“She already agreed to go through with it.”

Elena’s eyes widened in question.

“I used the power of persuasion,” I replied with a sly grin.

She slanted a brow. “You mean you threatened her?”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not, Marcello. I told you when this started that you can’t go down a dark path and expect the reward to be liberating.”

“I know.” I rubbed my fingers across my chin. “I have it under control. Trust me.”

Cherry red lips smoothed into a smile. “You know I only trust what the cards tell me.”

I rolled my eyes. “You and those damn cards.”

“Try as you may, you can’t deny that the cards have been very accurate lately. Need I remind you of the cards you pulled the day before the letter arrived?”

I smiled. “Justice. And since then, things have pretty much fallen in my favor to get that justice.”

Elena’s expression remained all shades of serious. “But you didn’t want me to reveal the other two cards, remember?”

“Because I was happy with the first one.” I placed my glass on the side table. “Why ruin it?”

Her eyes narrowed. “We didn’t complete the reading, Marcello. And it’s making me nervous.”

I clasped my hands on my lap. “Did you not take a peek?”

As if I insulted her, Elena glowered in my direction. “Those cards were a message for you, not me. I had no right to.”

Elena and her cards never amused me. I refused to believe something as simple as images on a piece of cardboard could predict the path you were about to go on, and what you would encounter while on that road. We determined our own fates, our own paths—that was what I chose to believe. Elena knew how I felt about them, and I’d only humored her twice before with a reading. Once, the night my mother died. The tower was revealed as my present, and I could still remember Elena’s face when she saw it. Her eyes were haunted, cheeks a pale, sickening gray. It scared the bejesus out of me that night. I was only twelve years old, but I knew from the look on her face she expected something terrible to happen. Twenty-four hours later, I knew what that something terrible was. After that I refused to let her come near me with those cursed cards, preferring to deal with present and future curveballs as they were thrown my way. But my sneaky aunt managed to get me to play along for a second time the night before the anonymous letter arrived, informing me of Mila’s existence. I was pissed out of my boots that night after consuming a copious amount of alcohol. But once she revealed the card of justice, I refused to continue, not wanting anything else overshadowing the feeling of impending victory one stupid little card stirred within me.

I shifted in my seat as I watched Elena shuffle the cards some more, the brushing sound of paper scratching against my last nerve. “I don’t want to do a reading right now, Elena.”

“Marcello, please. We need to know so we can be prepared.”

I scoffed, picked up my glass, and emptied it with one large gulp. “We are prepared. Why else do you think I have Mila locked in a motherfucking room?”

Elena scooted up to the edge of her seat, her brown eyes pleading with worry. “Do not underestimate your father, Marcello. We both know what he is capable of.”

“Then you do it. Read your own cards.”

“No.” She shook her head. “This is your road we are both on. It has to be you.”

I tapped a single finger on the wooden armrest of my seat, contemplating whether I’d humor her one last time by letting her do the only thing that seemed to ease her a little. After all, she had sacrificed a lot by supporting me in my vendetta—which in the end affected her as well.

“Fine,” I conceded reluctantly. “But if I see that motherfucking tower, I am burning those cards.”

Elena smiled, and I could already see her nerves settle a little. I, on the other hand, didn’t like this one bit. It was unsettling, the image of that damn tower hovering inside my head.

After placing the deck of cards on the table, she slid it toward me with a crimson manicured nail. With a nod, she urged me to go ahead, but as I reached for the cards, she placed her hand on top of it. “Think about everything that is going on right now. Think about Mila, your father, you.”

It wasn’t an instruction. It was a warning, her urging me to not take this lightly.

Annoyed and not in the mood, I went for the cards when Elena stopped me again. “Close your eyes, Marcello. Focus. Let your energy guide you.”

I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes. As if convincing me to do this wasn’t enough, she had to push me just a little farther.

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