Page 5 of The Fall of Sin (The Sins of Saint 2)

Mr. Russo grinned. “I’m assuming by the look on your face you know what I’m talking about, Mila. Why don’t you enlighten your brother?”

An uncomfortable weight settled in my gut, and I knew I had to tread lightly with this man. The look on his face, his entire demeanor, spelled nothing but trouble.

I tucked a loose curl behind my ear. “I think I’d like to hear your version of the story, Mr. Russo.”

A dark brow arched, his grin turning into an arrogant smirk. “I can see why he likes you.”

“I can see why he doesn’t like you.”

His lips curled. “What makes you think my son doesn’t like me?”

“I could—”

“Okay,” Raphael interjected, “I think we’re getting off topic here. Let’s go back to the part where one of you enlightens me about this debt you mentioned.”

Mr. Russo didn’t take his eyes off me. “To put it simply, Raphael, years ago, a firstborn Torres girl was promised to our family. As fate would have it, there hasn’t been a firstborn girl in your family until,” he gestured toward me, “Mila was born.”

“What was the debt for?”

“Money, of course,” Mr. Russo answered simply with a shrug. “Your great grandfather needed money for his company. And my grandfather—bless his kind heart—was generous enough to give him the money he needed. So, a mutual agreement was made to merge our families with having a firstborn Russo son marry a firstborn Torres girl.”

“And when I was born, my parents faked my death and shipped me halfway across the world to make sure that didn’t happen.” I continued his story, adding a little animosity to my tone. There was something about Saint’s dad that had me dissecting every word, every movement—no matter how subtle—to try to figure out what game he was playing. The amused grin and hard look in his eyes made it clear he was playing a game he had no intention of losing.

I didn’t trust him. Whether it was an orphan’s instinct, or the disposition of a woman surrounded by strangers, I had the distinct feeling the old man sitting across from me had nothing but ill intentions.

“You know,” Mr. Russo started, “I have no idea why your parents went through all that trouble to hide you from our family. I’m sure you had a lot of abandonment issues growing up as an orphan.” The crooked smile on his face was devoid of any sympathy.

I refused to let him rattle me. “I’m sure they chose the lesser evil.”

“Did they, though? Was tearing you from your family, denying you your birthright as a Torres heir really the lesser evil compared to marrying my son?” He snorted, lips curved in an amused grin. “I suppose one could say it was all for nothing since you ended up marrying my son anyway. Would you call that fate, Mila? Destiny, perhaps.”

I refused to answer or react in any way. It was as if he wanted to provoke me, to get me to say things I was determined to keep to myself. It only took me ten minutes in this man’s presence to figure out why Saint had reacted so hostilely toward his dad in that boardroom. They were like two titans going at each other’s throats—a war between gods.

“What did you do to him?” I glared at the old man. “Why does he hate you so much?”

The stoic look on his face faltered for a split second, and the arrogance he carried so well slipped for a single moment. If I wasn’t dissecting his expressions since he walked in here, I would have missed it.

Wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes giving away his age. “My son doesn’t hate me. He hates the fact that he can’t be me.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“I assure you it is. Marcello has mourned the death of his mother for the last eighteen years. He hates the fact that I was strong enough to move on, yet he is unable to do so.”

A puzzle slipped into place, and I wanted to ask questions so I could complete the image, get a little insight into Saint’s mind. But asking questions would only put me at a disadvantage with Mr. Russo, which I didn’t want. Not right now.

“Anyway,” he sat up and dropped the stub of his cigar into Raphael’s empty glass, “I brought my lawyers with me.” He indicated to the two men standing behind him. “All we need from you is a statement that says Marcello forced you to marry him and sign over your shares to him. We can get this marriage between you and my son annulled by sundown.”

My stomach turned. The prickle of warning in the back of my neck had the hair on my body stand up with chills. I glanced from him to Raphael, who merely nodded in agreement with Mr. Russo. “It’s the only way to sort out this mess.”

I didn’t react.

“Mila,” Raphael urged and took my hand, an action that made me uncomfortable, “you’re scared of him. I know that. Otherwise, why would you have run from him? Mr. Russo can make sure he never bothers you again. And once this is all sorted out, we can start over—you can start over with your rightful family.” He squeezed my hand, and my heart bled inside my chest, the thought of seeing my mother crushing me with every dream I had ever had of being reunited with her. In that moment, I was that young girl again—the orphan who got locked in a closet with nothing but the darkness and thoughts of what her real mother was like to keep her company. There was no way I could count the nights I spent on a filthy mattress thinking about her, wondering what she looked like. Whether I had her eyes, her nose, her smile. Now, here I was, being offered the chance to have a little orphan’s dreams come true. But I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that not everyone here had my best interest at heart.

I looked at Raphael, the resemblance between us becoming clearer the more time we spent in each other’s company. “You were about to sell your shares.”

He nodded without a moment’s hesitation. “I’ve never had an interest in the shipping business. I would only run that company into the ground if I had to take my father’s place. Mr. Russo has built himself quite a logistical empire. I can’t think of anyone better to run my father’s company than him.”

Mr. Russo cleared his throat. “Although I appreciate the vote of confidence, Raphael, I’m afraid that without Mila’s ten percent—which we all initially thought was yours—I’m no longer interested in buying your shares. It would make me a foolish businessman to buy into a company when my enemy, in this case my own flesh and blood, owns the majority shares.”

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