Page 60 of The Fall of Sin (The Sins of Saint 2)

Raphael swiped the card, and the red light turned green. The door unlocked, and he pushed it open, waiting for me to walk in first.

My palms were sweaty, and my heart beat a staccato rhythm against my ribs. One would think I’d want to rush inside to see her, but the nerves that rang like bells in my belly had me taking one hesitant step after the other.

The suite was dimly lit, the air stuffy as if it hadn’t had fresh air in days. The door shut, and I looked back at Raphael who was two steps behind me.

The fabric of my dress dragged along the carpet without the height of my shoes, and the farther I walked into the suite, the more unease settled on my shoulders. Something wasn’t right. I stopped dead in my tracks and turned. “Raph—”

Everything went black.

20

Saint

“Where the fuck is she?”

I stormed into the ladies’ room, the door crashing against the tiled wall. Women squealed and gasped while I seethed.

“Mila!” My voice was a goddamn sonic boom against the walls and mirrors. “Mila!”

“Saint?” Anete came walking in. “What’s going on?”

“Not now, Anete. Mila!” I went from one bathroom stall to the other, kicking the fucking doors down.

“She’s not in here, Saint.”

I stilled and snapped my glare to her. “How do you know?”

“Because she was in here about ten minutes ago but left.”

I narrowed my eyes when I noticed a red streak that tainted her left cheek. “What happened to your face, Anete?”

“Oh, nothing.” She touched her face. “Just some uncoordinated waiter who wasn’t looking where he was going.”

I stalked forward, noticing how her gaze settled anywhere but on me. I’d known Anete for a long time, had my cock sucked by that lying mouth on many occasions. The woman was vindictive, manipulative, and had no shame when it came to getting what she wanted. But one thing she could never do was lie to me. She had this tell-tale sign of diverting her eyes and flipping her hair like the mother of all divas whenever she was on the verge of getting caught in a lie.

“Anete, what. The fuck. Happened. To your face?” I was no more than three inches from her motherfucking face and piling on the pressure while glaring down at her.

She avoided eye contact and flipped her hair. “Fine. Your wife and I had words, and for no reason she went all ghetto and slapped me. I’m telling you, Saint, you need to keep that one on a leash.”

“What did you say to her?”

Anete recoiled. “That is not the point, Saint. The woman assaulted me for no—”

I grabbed her shoulders and forced her against the wall, her tiny frame and fragile bones seconds from being crushed in my grasp. “Do not fuck with me, Anete. What did you say to her?”

“You’re hurting me.”

“Tell me!” The loud crack of my voice reverberated around the room, Anete’s bottom lip starting to tremble.

“Fine. Okay? Mila came in here acting like she fucking owned the place in her Prada dress, gloating about your trip to Milan and how you took her to the Hotel Principe di Savoia.”

My heartbeat went from a racing pulse to a thundering hammer against my ribs. “Jesus, Anete. What did you say to her?”

“You took her to that goddamn hotel, Saint, after I had begged you so many times to take me with you whenever you had business in Milan.” Her eyes glistened, and Jesus Christ, I wasn’t in the mood for fucking waterworks. “I fucking begged you, and you just kept giving me excuse after excuse.”

“Jesus.” I let go of her and stepped back. “You lied to her, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I fucking lied,” she spat out between tears. “I lied because I wasn’t about to have some orphan you picked up off the goddamn streets gloat about living the life I wanted.”

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