Page 49 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

My pulse raced, and I regretted my decision to come here. But my need for answers was strong. I wanted that last damn piece of the puzzle.

I sat back down and scraped together every ounce of courage I had, refusing to show anything but strength and fortitude.

He cleared his throat and looked me in the eye as he started. “Even though my son refuses to believe it, his mother did commit suicide.”

“Because you had an affair?”

He scoffed. “I never had an affair.”

“But Saint said he heard you arguing one night about—”

“He heard wrong. I never had an affair. I loved his mother, despite what he might think.”

“Then what were you arguing about?”

He watched as the bartender refilled his glass, then took a sip. “Before I married his mother, there was another woman. We were madly in love, and I planned on marrying her. The only problem was she was already promised to someone else.” This time he took a larger gulp from his drink. “Her family had already arranged for her to marry another man. I tried to convince her to not go through with it, but her loyalty to her family was too strong.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

He pinned me with a pointed stare. “You came to listen to my side of the story. Now I suggest you listen.”

I settled back and crossed my arms.

“Because of her engagement to this man, she never introduced me to her family. We had to sneak around, had secret rendezvous at midnight. Until one day, she didn’t show up. I didn’t see her again until years later.” He dragged a fingertip across the round rim of his crystal glass. “But I was already married to Marcello’s mother, and I loved her with all my heart.”

“Is this the woman his mother accused you of having an affair with?”

He shook his head. “She wasn’t accusing me of having an affair. She was angry because I never told her.”

“Told her what?”

He glanced at me with a somber look on his face. “That the woman I loved before her was her sister. Elena Maria Lombardi.”

And just like that, he pulled the rug right from under me. “Elena?” I asked in disbelief. “As in Aunt Elena?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Marcello’s Aunt Elena.”

Jesus Christ. My mind was fucking reeling. “Does Saint know?”

He shook his head.

“Why didn’t you tell him?”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

I sat up straight, disbelief making me bold. “Your son thinks you killed his mother because she found out about you having an affair. That she wanted to divorce you, so you killed her.”

“I know.” He remained calm. Too calm.

I inhaled sharply. “You should have told him the truth.”

“And ruin his relationship with the one woman who had become like a mother to him? Why would I do that to my son?”

“Why would you let him believe you were having an affair when you weren’t?”

He straightened in his seat, shoulders squared. “Marcello lost his mother under very traumatic circumstances, and he clung to Elena ever since. What kind of father would I be if I had taken that away from him as well?”

I took a minute to let it all sink in. It was information overload, and my mind was on the verge of exploding trying to digest it all.

---