Page 48 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

I shot him a knowing glare. “How much?”

“Excuse me?”

“How much did Mr. Russo pay you to deliver that message to me?”

He faked a look of confusion. “I’m not—”

“You know what?” I held up my hand and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to meet with Mr. Russo.”

“I’ll get the car ready.”

“No. Not with you.” I scoffed. “You think I trust you after you’ve proven where your loyalties lie? I don’t think so. But here’s what you’re going to do…”

18

Mila

I walkedinto one of Tribeca’s most popular Italian restaurants. It was right next to the hotel where Mr. Russo stayed—the hotel I was summoned to via a secret letter smuggled in with the security guy currently doing James’s job.

My gaze drifted over the crowd of people enjoying their lunch. The scent of garlic and oregano clung to the air, the décor a rustic chic.

It took me ten seconds to find Mr. Russo seated at the bar, groomed with wealth in his stylish pin-striped suit.

My heart raced, and my palms were sweaty. If Saint were to find out I was meeting his father, we’d probably revert to me being his captive.

I strutted through the restaurant and took a seat next to him without saying a word. He glanced to the side with a grin on his face. “I’m going to assume that you picking a busy restaurant like this one had nothing to do with the food, and everything to do with the fact that you don’t trust me.”

“That’s right. And you should know there’s a cab waiting for me outside, and Saint’s number is on the driver’s phone as we speak. If I’m not back in that cab within half an hour, he’ll be pressing the call button and your son will know exactly who to blame if I go missing.”

He smirked, his expression nothing short of amused. “I can see why my son fell for you.”

“My relationship with your son is not up for discussion.”

“Fine,” he conceded, the gold chain around his neck shimmering under the dim lights of the bar. “Can I get you something to drink?” He didn’t wait for my answer before he waved at the bartender.

“I’m fine,” I held up my hand. “I don’t want anything.”

Mr. Russo turned in his seat, and I was momentarily distracted by his sapphire eyes—eyes that resembled Saint’s. It was uncanny. But it also reminded me of the night with Raphael, the night this man came to our rescue.

“Why did you want to see me?” This conversation needed to get to the point because I wasn’t sure how long I had before Saint started to get suspicious.

He shrugged and took a sip from the crystal tumbler in front of him. “Since my son told you his side of the story, I thought it only fair for me to tell mine.”

“Who says I’m interested in hearing yours?”

“If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

I turned in my seat to face him directly. “You’ve already wasted five minutes of the half hour I’m giving you, so I suggest you get to the point.”

“And I suggest you remember who the hell it is you’re talking to.”

I scowled. “I’m not intimidated by you, Mr. Russo.”

“And that’s your first mistake.”

“I think we’re done here.” I grabbed my purse, and as my heels hit the floor, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around my elbow.

“Sit down, Mila.” His voice was calm, but his words were coated with warning. From the corner of my eye, I noticed two men approach us, but Mr. Russo held up his hand, silently ordering them to stay back.

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