Page 37 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

James knew not to question it any further. He knew when to push and when to shut up.

I slid another folder across the table to him. “Your next assignment. Make it happen sooner rather than later.”

He nodded. “After this, we’ll be taking care of the last one?”

“Yes.” I sat back in my seat. “But the last one I want brought here.”

“To Italy?” James seemed confused.

I nodded. “Him, I want to watch take his last breath.”

James stood and placed his empty glass on the side table before he picked up the file. “Let’s take care of this bastard first, then.” He walked out, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I got the second picture message to prove my latest order had been fulfilled. James knew I hated waiting, and he wasn’t exactly the patient type either. Besides, he loved the dishing out justice to those who deserved it almost as much as I did.

“Marcello?”

I slipped my phone in my pocket when Elena stood by the doorway. “Aunt Elena.”

“We’re ready to join you for breakfast.”

“We?”

Elena stepped to the side, and Mila appeared. Only it wasn’t her. It wasn’t the Mila I saw for the first time in New York. The woman with the torn jeans and dirty sneakers. She looked completely different, yet still the same. Her wild curls had been tamed with a chic up-style of her dark hair, exposing the delicate skin of her neck—lean and inviting. For a moment, I unashamedly admired the woman who stood before me in a pale pink dress that hugged her every curve to perfection, the pastel color a striking contrast to her flawless olive skin. My gaze all but drank her in, her legs shaped and accentuated by her high heels. The thought of her wrapping those toned calves around my waist forced me to remain in my seat since my cock was pressing against the zipper of my pants. It was unexpected, the way I had been lusting after her ever since she boarded my private plane. But there was something about her, something that made me want to show her how beautiful she would be corrupted by my darkness.

Mila shifted from one leg to the other, my lingering stare inflicting some discomfort.

“You look striking, Milana.”

“Mila,” she retorted. “My name is Mila.”

“Of course.” I smirked. The use of her real name was intentional since I knew it would earn me some of that fiery attitude that had me so intrigued. Captivated, even.

I turned to Elena. “I trust this is your handiwork?”

Elena smiled from ear to ear. “I merely polished the diamond, Marcello.”

“I’m right here,” Mila chimed in. “I can hear you.”

This made me snicker, and I was finally able to stand from my seat. “Let’s go have breakfast, then.”

“Saint?” Mila took a step toward me. “Can I talk to you? In private?”

Before I could even ask Elena to give us privacy, the door closed, and we were alone.

I placed my hands in my pants pockets, my feet slightly apart as I watched her, trying to figure out what was going on in that pretty little head of hers. “What can I do for you, Milana?”

“For the last time, my name is Mila.”

“What is it you want to talk about?”

Her dark brows knitted, and with her downturned lips she made sure I saw on her face how much she hated me. But there was something in the way she looked at me, a flash of sensuality mixed with contempt. I wondered if she felt as confused as she looked.

She crossed her arms. “You want something from me, so I think it’s only fair I get something out of this arrangement as well.”

“I hardly think you’re in a position to bargain with me.”

“And I hardly think you’re in a position to deny me.”

I snorted, not sure whether I was amused or annoyed by the way she spoke to me. “How do you figure that?’

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