Page 61 of The Fall of Sin (The Sins of Saint 2)

I crouched with my hands over my mouth, knowing exactly what damage Anete’s lies had caused. I had promised Mila I’d answer her truthfully. Always. And now she was under the impression I lied to her—a lie that had now stolen that one fundamental moment between us. A moment where she felt important to me. Special, even.

“You got what you wanted,” Anete continued with wet cheeks and wild eyes. “You married the girl and got the Torres shares you were after. Why continue the charade?”

“How—”

“How do I know? Come on, Saint.” She crossed her arms. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

“Fuck!” I launched up and slammed my fist into the wall, the pain doing nothing to overpower the anger.

The seething rage burned like the flames of hell in my chest, and I glowered at Anete as if she was the devil’s fucking spawn. “If anything happens to my wife, I will ruin you, Anete. I swear to God.”

“Sir.” James came storming in holding a pair of black shoes in his hand. “I found these in the hotel lobby.”

“It’s Mila’s.”

“Sir, Elena. I can’t find her anywhere.”

“What?”

James approached me, his expression wary. “She’s not here.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Get your men on this, James. Use hotel security. I don’t care if you need to bring in the fucking military, but you find them. You hear me? Fucking find them.”

James rushed out, and I saw Anete still hovering in the corner of the room. “Get out.”

Her lips curled. “All I did was—”

“I said get out!” There was no way the woman could remain standing before my rage that threatened to engulf her, and she ran from the room.

I pulled my phone from my pocket. This entire scenario had my father written all over it. God, I was so fucking stupid thinking Mila would be safe here with me.

I pressed the dial button on a number I hadn’t called in a very long time. It only took two rings for him to answer.

“Marcello. What a surprise.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose as my father’s voice invoked a surge of lava in my veins. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Mila. Where the fuck is Mila?”

“I’m not sure why you think I’d know this, son.”

“Do not call me son.” I clenched my teeth. “And do not fuck with me. Where the fuck is she?”

“I’m sorry, Marcello. But I honestly don’t know what you are talking about. Are you not at this charity gala of yours?”

I paced across the marble floor, barely holding on to the last sliver of control I had. “I swear to God, if you hurt her—”

“Keep your goddamn threats to yourself, Marcello. I am only going to say this one more time, and then I am going to hang up. I do not have your wife, nor do I know anything about her disappearance. And once you find her, I’ll expect another call from you with an apology.”

He hung up, and I cursed as I grabbed a vase from a side table and threw it across the room, straight at the mirror, which cracked and shattered on impact. White roses and broken glass scattered, and my curses slammed against the walls like rolling thunder. Everything was so fucked up, and I was losing control.

My feet rushed across the marble floor and I stormed out, back into the hall which had been—up until minutes ago—a scene from a goddamn fairy land. But now all the flowers, crystal vases, candles and chandeliers were mere fragments of my worst goddamn nightmare. The one thing I had been fearing since the day I realized Mila was more to me than just a goddamn signature.

I had to find her.

Even if it cost me my last breath…I had to fucking find her.

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