Page 57 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

I was sosure it was the bullet of my gun that caused the crimson stain that soaked her white robe. I pulled the trigger. I felt the shock and pressure as the bullet erupted from the barrel. In my head, I screamed at myself to stop, to not pull that trigger. But her words lit the fuse, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop the anger from erupting.

My ears rang from the blow, the only sound I heard as everything else around me went on mute. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mila shout my name, but I couldn’t hear her voice. But as sound started to penetrate the silence that buzzed through my eardrums, I realized it wasn’t me. The blood that slowly spread along the fibers of her white robe wasn’t because of me.

It was my father. It was his knife that turned her small frame into a lifeless body against his chest.

He killed her. My father killed Aunt Elena.

The gun dropped from my hand, and my lungs felt unable to exhale as I watched the scene unfold in front of me. My father gently laid her limp body down on the bed. He brushed her blonde hair from her face while whispering words in Italian. Words that were meant only for her.

A soft sob rang beside me, and I glanced at Mila. Her face was pale, tears forming a clear line down the curve of her cheeks.

She looked at me with her tearstained eyes, her heartbreak mirroring my own. All I could do was reach for her and pull her close—not because I thought she needed it, but because I knew I did.

Mila placed her hands against my chest as I held her tightly, her body shuddering with tears that continued to escape.

Dear God, this was not how I saw this night play out. I was so angry at Mila, so sure of her betrayal by meeting my father behind my back, I made it impossible for her to talk to me. To tell me what she knew. Yet here I was, unable to process what the fuck just happened, my head buzzing with lies and accusations, deception and blood.

“It was Elena,” I mumbled to myself. “It was her all along.”

My dad turned to face me, his expression somber while his hand was coated in Elena’s blood. “I didn’t know. I never even suspected—”

“Neither did I,” I admitted while clutching Mila even tighter. “I was so sure it was—”

“Me. I know.”

“I accused you of having an affair so many times.” Mila stepped away, and I moved toward my father. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“And take away the one person you latched on to after your mother died? No. I couldn’t do that.”

“Instead, you let your son hate you, believing you were behind everything?”

He pulled a palm down his face, his chest rising and falling. “I did what I thought was right, Marcello. I thought Elena was good for you. That she gave you what you needed in the absence of a mother.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, my gaze drifting from Elena’s body to my father. “She did. She was like a mother to me. Supported me. Listened to me rage about how much I hated you, and how convinced I was of your guilt. Meanwhile,” I swallowed hard, pressing my lips together, “meanwhile, she knew…she fucking knew I had it all wrong because it was her. It was her all along.”

My father placed a hand on my shoulder as I stared at Elena, the life drained out of her. “You couldn’t have known. None of us could have known.”

And just like that, the world I thought I lived in changed within the blink of an eye. I lost another person I cared deeply for—someone I loved—but merely because I was misled with a pack of lies.

“She pretended to hate you as much as I did.” I looked at my father. “She supported me in my every endeavor to ruin you, claiming it was justice for her sister’s death.”

“Elena’s actions were fueled by jealousy. She thought we could rekindle our love affair after your mother’s death. But once she saw how I mourned my late wife, how broken I was with grief, she realized there was no place for her in my life.” He took a deep breath. “So, in a way…she did hate me.”

I felt Mila slip her hand in mine, silently claiming her place by my side. The protector in me pushed back all the confusion that demanded explanations, reminding me that my wife was more important.

I pulled Mila closer. “Let’s get you out of here.” I led her out of the bedroom, not wanting her to spend a single second longer looking at Elena’s body.

We walked down the hall, and as we passed the pillars to the living room, I pulled her to me and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, squeezing her tiny frame against mine. “I’m sorry, segreto,” I whispered as I buried my face in the side of her neck. “I’m sorry I did not take the time to listen to you.”

Mila’s body relaxed into mine, and I welcomed her heat, which soothed the raging confusion that still stormed within me. “I’m sorry I was right.” Her voice hitched, and I felt her chest move as she swallowed. “I wanted to be wrong so badly, Saint. All the way here, I prayed I had my wires crossed somehow. I know how much you loved her. God,” she sighed, “I loved her too.”

I lifted her chin so she would look up at me. “I swear to God, I will never doubt you again. No matter what, I will always listen to everything you have to say. I swear it.”

It was out of my own desperation that I kissed her, needing the comfort of her taste. My heart was shattered because of lies I was led to believe my whole life. My mind was on the verge of fracturing with the knowledge that the hate which had filled my entire existence had been based on the deception of the one person I truly trusted. And now…now I needed my wife more than I had ever needed her before.

I leaned my forehead against hers, eyes closed as her taste lingered on my lips. “I love you,segreto.” I placed my palm against her belly. “I love you both.”

Epilogue

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