Page 55 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

“Let her speak.” Saint didn’t take his eyes off me.

“Marcello—”

Saint held up his hand and silenced Elena’s objection. “I said let her speak.”

Elena scoffed, her annoyance painted across every line on her face.

I walked up to Saint. “I found a key in Elena’s handbag the day she arrived here.”

“What key?”

“It was this old brass key. It had these rusty embellishments. A vintage type key.”

“This is preposterous,” Elena muttered from the side.

I placed my hand on Saint’s arms, which were crossed in front of his chest, desperate for him to believe me and see the bigger picture. “Your father told me that one of the reasons you were so convinced your mother didn’t commit suicide was because there was no key.”

Saint shifted from one leg to the other, his gaze darting from mine to Elena’s, then back.

“The bedroom door was locked,” I continued. “You and James had to break it down to get in. But there was no key on the inside, which meant it had to have been locked from the outside.”

Saint’s top lip snarled with the reminder of a memory I was sure he’d rather forget. “Where are you going with this, Mila?”

I turned to face Elena and swallowed hard because I knew I was right. I also knew I was about to break Saint’s heart with the truth.

“Where is the key, Elena?”

Her nostrils flared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” All it took was a split second. A single, short moment of letting her nerves get the better of her, and she glanced at the chest of drawers, then cut her glower back to me. It was in that split second that she gave away a twenty-year-old secret.

I rushed across the room and yanked open the drawer to find Elena’s bag inside.

“Don’t you dare. This is an invasion of privacy.” She darted in my direction. “I will not stand—”

Saint stepped in front of her, warning her with a single scowl.

I opened the side pocket and pulled out the key. As I clutched it in my hand, I closed my eyes and took a breath before turning to face my husband. “Is this the key?”

Saint’s face ashened, his gaze stuck on the key in my hand. He didn’t move, and just by the way he stared at the key, I knew it was the one he had been searching for all these years. The key that haunted him…until now.

I remained silent, hardly taking a breath. It was like I could see that teenage boy in his eyes. The screaming. The panic. The pain. The grief as his whole life got ripped to shreds. My heart bled for him. My soul wept for him. I had never wanted to be wrong this badly in my entire life. But I knew I wasn’t.

His hand shook as he reached out, his fingers trembling as if he anticipated the key to burn when touched.

“Marcello,” Elena stormed toward him, “this is not—”

He spun around and grabbed her shoulders, the devil’s wrath burning in his irises. My heart crept up my throat as I watched him squeeze her bony shoulders. “Why do you have my mother’s bedroom key?”

She squirmed frantically to get out of his hold, but it was no use. “I’ve never seen that key before in my life. Mila, she planted it. Your father must have given it to her.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “No. That’s not true.”

“Of course it is.” Elena’s brown eyes glared at me. “You planted that key.”

“I did no such thing, and you know it. I found this key the night you arrived.”

“Lies!”

“You were in love with his father. You couldn’t stand the fact that he was happy with your sister, and that she was able to bear a son. You were a bitter woman, Elena. And your jealousy drove you to commit murder.”

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