Page 43 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

“He hurt you.”

I dropped my hand onto my lap. “Who?”

“One of many.” He didn’t look away, swirls of indigo turning his eyes into a hardened color of cruelty.

“Don’t pretend like you know me.” I turned my attention back out the window, the outside world slowly being clothed in darkness as the sun started to set.

We didn’t talk after that and spent the entire trip in excruciating silence. It was only when we finally came to a stop that he slipped his phone into his jacket pocket. “No matter what, you do not speak to anyone. Do not answer any questions. Behave and do what is expected of you, and we’ll both get what we want.”

There was no time for me to think of some sarcastic comeback or snide remark, as someone opened the passenger side door, and Saint got out. The second his feet touched the ground, he held his hand out to me, and for the life of me I couldn’t get myself to take it. I couldn’t muster up the courage to place my palm in his and to let the show begin. It was too hard, and it was wrong.

“Mila.” His tone was sharp, threatening, wrapped in hidden warning.

I closed my eyes and took a breath, my heart beating so fast I was expecting it to explode at any second. But there was no turning back now. There was no defying him or fighting back. When all this started, I was fighting for my freedom, fighting to survive a monster. But now, because of the deal I had made with the devil, it was no longer just about me. It was about all those hopeless faces of kids who had nothing and no one. It was about that little red-haired girl who refused to waste the only thing that was hers, on others. Her tears.

By keeping the picture of her face in my head, I managed to reach out and take his hand—surrendering. Giving up control. Giving up the fight. It was also the moment I realized I had made the biggest mistake of my life asking for something in return at the expense of my soul. Because now I had no choice but to play my part and get through the next six months. It was no longer only my life and my future at stake. But that little red-haired girl’s, too.

16

Saint

I had to admit,Mila did better than I expected. The entire way from the limo, across the dock, and onto my yacht, Mila clung to my side as if her life depended on it. She kept her head down, angled toward my chest, and clutched my hand tightly. We moved quickly, James leading the way with Elena two steps behind him. As suspected, we had managed to avoid a crowd by traveling at dawn and putting extra security in place. But I’d been playing this game long enough to know there were always eyes watching.

We boarded the yacht, Mila’s heels clicking across the wooden deck. The Empress had a fifteen-million-euro price tag, a present I bought myself a few months ago. It was a luxury yacht that rivaled all others.

I couldn’t help but glance down at her as she took in her surroundings. Those pretty green eyes of hers were beaming in awe of the 460 GT sailing yacht. The large deck spaces were designed for entertainment, and the six lavish double state rooms were optimized to deliver timeless elegance. The Empress was a spectacular venue for weekend revelries, filled with overflowing glasses of champagne, caviar, and an abundance of naked women lounging around on the open flybridge.

It was also the perfect venue for a private wedding.

Elena stepped in next to me, both of us staring at Mila as she explored. “You know you can’t impress a girl like her with money?”

“Who says I’m trying to impress her?” I placed my hands in my pants pockets.

“No one. Just something to think about. I mean, it would be easier for her to act the part of a happy wife when she is, in fact…happy.”

I scowled at Elena from the side. “That’s quite a shrewd thing to say.”

“Again, something to think about.”

James boarded the yacht with a garment bag in hand. “Where do I put this?”

“VIP room, please, James,” Elena answered then turned to me and shrugged when she saw the giant question mark on my forehead. “She’s the bride, Marcello. The least you can do is give her the master suite.”

Elena sauntered off and disappeared below deck. I’d known that woman my entire life, and I knew the way her head worked. It was easy to see she came from the same bloodline as my mother, having nothing in common with the Russo family. Even surrounded by darkness, she refused to believe no light could be found. But I had Russo blood running in my veins, and I knew no matter how many times light conquered the dark, it always returned. Light always ended up fading to black. Eventually.

“Is this where it’s going to happen?” Mila’s voice grabbed my attention, and I couldn’t help but notice how pale she looked. Scared. Uncertain. “The wedding?”

I joined her in the middle of the open space of the deck. “Yes. It’s private, with only my staff onboard.”

She rubbed her hands together, her gray dress hugging every curve. “What happens next? After the wedding?”

“You don’t have to concern yourself with those details. All you need to worry about is—”

“Acting my part,” she interrupted. “I know.”

The engines started, and the crew moved about, getting everything ready for us to leave. Mila’s gaze moved in every direction. “It’s funny. I’ve always wanted to travel the world. I mean, who doesn’t? But this,” she swallowed hard, “this is not how I imagined it. I have no desire to see anything here, or to even be here. I’d do anything to be able to go back home.”

“This is your home.”

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