Page 53 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

Heels clicked across the deck, and I stared at her back, gawking and confused as to what the fuck she just meant with,“Nope, I don’t see it.”

What the hell was that?

Ugh, I’d only known her for ten seconds, and already I could stereotype and place her in the little jar along with all the other world class bitches I’d met in my life. The ones with the dollar-sign lips, fake tits, and payphone pussies.You can’t use it unless you put a coin in it.

While Anete took a seat, the guy behind the bar glanced from her to the clock against the wall, and I chose to spend my time out on the deck in the sun, instead of getting drunk at ten in the morning.

Vitamin D soaked through my pores as my skin bathed in the summer heat. Saint and Mario had been locked below deck for hours, and a tiny part of me wanted to be a damn fly on the wall. But then there was a bigger part of me who just couldn’t give a fuck.

“Enjoying some healthy sun, I see.”

I opened my eyes and squinted as Elena hovered over me. “Yeah. Saint is off doing whatever he does with his lawyer, and Miss I-use-a-shirt-for-a-dress is busy getting drunk by the bar.”

“Ah.” Elena sat down on the recliner next to mine. “So, you met Anete.”

“Who is she?”

“She’s his lawyer’s daughter.”

I lifted a brow. “I mean to him. Who is she to Saint?”

Elena lifted a shoulder. “Who’s to say she is anyone to him?”

“Oh, come on. I might not be clued in with whatever the hell goes on around here, but I’d have to be blind to not see how she lusts after him. And take note, all I needed was ten seconds in her presence to figure that out.”

“Anete is what we call an Italian socialite. Around here, she’s just famous for being famous.”

“So, she’s basically the Italian version of a Kardashian?”

Elena laughed. “Something like that, yes.”

“Has something ever happened between them?” Not like I cared.

“Probably.” She didn’t even try to play it down. “Marcello is a warm-blooded man. Unless a woman catches his heart, a beautiful woman will always catch his eye.”

“Oh, awesome. Not.” I scoffed. Not comfortable with the topic at hand, I glanced around at the open ocean, a beautiful tropical shade of green and blue. It seemed peaceful, yet so many dangers lurked below it. It reminded me of Saint’s eyes—a warning never to trust the illusion of calm. High peaks of rock were scattered in the distance, a silhouette of land teasing on the horizon.

“Where are we, anyway?”

Elena took a deep, appreciative breath of fresh ocean air. “We are close to Marina Piccola.”

“Marina what?”

“Piccola. It lies directly opposite Capri’s giant sea stacks.”

“Man. It’s just my luck. I’ve never been out of New York City, and now that I finally am halfway across the world, I can’t experience any of it.”

She shot me a warm smile. “Be patient. There’s still plenty of time.”

“Plenty of time for what?”

But she had already left, walking back inside. I sighed and sagged into the recliner. At least I could enjoy the sun and view—a little silver lining around this dark cloud I was stuck in.

Laughter bubbled from behind me, and I turned, only to see Anete leaning into Saint, smiling, rubbing his arm with one hand while clutching a mimosa in the other. Incredible. A few hours ago, he introduced her to his wife, yet there she was, flirting openly with him as if the mimosas just magically made the fact that he was married disappear.

I crossed my arms and huffed. Why did it bother me so much? We were only married on a piece of paper, and nothing more. I didn’t even want to be married to him, yet here I was, pouting over a tart who couldn’t keep her hands to herself.

You are Milana Katarina Russo. I heard his voice as if he were standing right beside me. That was who I was. That was the person I needed to act like. Would a Russo wife tolerate a woman like Anete so blatantly flirting and throwing herself at Saint? I thought not.

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