Page 53 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

“Let me guess. About my mother, and how he had nothing to do with her apparent suicide.”

“He does—”

“Listen to me.” I grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly as my fingers bit into her flesh. “Whatever he said to you, he’s fucking manipulating you. That’s what he does, Mila. He manipulates. He cheats. He fucking lies. It’s. What. He. Does.”

“You’re hurting me.” Her eyes flashed as she stared at me, and I immediately let go.

I stepped up to her, so close she had to crane her neck to keep her gaze pinned on mine while I studied her face. “Elena was right.” The words sliced my throat like blades of betrayal. “You don’t believe me. You don’t believe my father killed my mother.”

She pinched her eyes closed and shook her head. “It’s not that. If you’ll just let me explain and—”

“And what? Repeat the lies he just told you? Try to convince me that my father’s a good man? I don’t want to hear it, Mila.” My heart ached—a lethal mix of anger and disappointment hacking my chest wide open. “Whatever he said to you, I do not want to hear it. Do you understand me, Mila?”

I watched her throat bob as she swallowed.

“I asked, do you understand me?”

Her nostrils flared, her eyes red hot flames of defiance. “I understand.”

“Good.”

I turned back to Viktor, my finger itching to pull the trigger of the gun hidden behind my back. “You better make sure I never fucking see your face again.”

The hate in Viktor’s eyes didn’t scare me. I’d had many men look at me in the same damn way, and it had lost it effect on me.

A car door slammed shut, and I glanced over my shoulder, only to see Mila in the back of a cab. “Jesus Christ! Are you fucking serious right now?”

The cab swerved into the busy New York traffic just as I rushed toward it. Mila stared out of the window at me, and I couldn’t believe what she was doing. This felt like Italy all over again.

“Fuck!”

20

Mila

I hatedthe way he looked at me. It was like we were back where we were a few weeks ago—where I was still the captive and he the abductor. The man who owned me rather than loved me. The rage that blazed in his irises was deadly, fueled by malevolence and disdain. When would I learn? When would I realize that not even the best thought-out plans could fool my husband—especially when it came to me? He was always two steps ahead, knowing my every goddamn move.

I should have known he would stew on Elena’s words as she claimed I didn’t believe them. She was like a mother to him; of course he’d take her seriously even if he didn’t want to believe it. But after my conversation with Mr. Russo, I knew the mystery surrounding Saint’s mother’s death needed to be solved. It was the only way for Saint to deal with his past demons and move on.

The cab parked in front of our apartment building. I got out and rushed through the lobby to the elevator and pressed the button twenty times in three seconds, while glancing over my shoulder.

Adrenaline surged through my veins, and I couldn’t stand still as I impatiently watched the numbers on the panel light up. It felt like forever and a day for the elevator to reach the top floor.

“Come on. Come on. Come on!”

The bell chimed, and the doors opened. My heels clicked across the floor as I rushed through the foyer. I prayed to God that I was wrong. Just the idea had my stomach churning and chest aching.

“Elena?” I called out as I reached her bedroom door. I knocked. “Elena, are you in there? Elena?”

The door flung open, and she tied her white robe. “What’s the matter?”

“The key,” I brushed past her and entered the room. “I need to see the key.”

“What key?”

“The key I found in your handbag the day you arrived.”

She slowly closed the door, her eyebrows slanted inward as she stared at me. “What is going on, Mila?”

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