Page 14 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

He nodded and walked out.

My hands shook as I unfolded the white paper, already knowing that I should fear the words that were written. The giant hole inside my gut grew bigger as I started to read the note.

I sucked in a breath, the piece of paper slipping from my fingers as its words burned through my chest—a branding iron searing the inside of my veins. I might not have known the man who walked out ten minutes ago, but I knew what his letter meant. The message was loud and clear, screaming at me from between the lines.

He wanted me to run.

Saint wanted me to leave and know he wouldn’t follow. That he wouldn’t come for me. Not this time.

He was letting me go.

He was setting me free.

“Mrs. Russo?”

I glanced up at James.

“I’ve been instructed to take you wherever you want to go.”

“Where is he?” I choked back tears. “Where is Saint?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Russo. But I can’t—”

“Where is he?” I grabbed the piece of paper and shot up to my feet. “Where is my husband?”

James placed his hands behind his back and simply stood there, silently staring at me, following orders.

“Where is he, James?” I demanded and stormed in his direction. But he didn’t even flinch, his expression void of any emotion.

I shoved the note against his chest, anger burning through my tears. “Tell my husband if he wants to get rid of me, he should come do it himself.”

6

Saint

I watchedthe ice swirl in my drink as it drowned in the amber liquid. Bourbon had always been my poison. I had searched for answers at the bottom of a bottle more times than I could count. Tonight was no different. Only this time I wasn’t searching for answers because I already knew what the answer was to the motherfucker of all questions.

Can I be a father?

Of course not. I spent most of my life hating mine. I had carried blood on my hands since I was eighteen, and I made my money in ways that would get me locked up until the day I took my last breath. There was no reason to think I’d be a good father. A good husband. Especially with this one thing I had been hiding from Mila since the day James discovered her father’s latest will. A will none of us knew about.

But even as desperate as I was to keep this secret from her, it was only a matter of time before she found out. There was nothing I could do about it—not even with all the goddamn money in the world. Time would reveal my secret, and there was no telling what would happen after Mila found out what I had been keeping from her. So, the way I saw it, set her free now. Let her run now, because in the end I would lose her either way.

It had been hours since I walked into the hotel bar determined to drink until I felt nothing. I wanted to flush all these motherfucking feelings from my system one glass of bourbon at a time. Problem was, it wasn’t fucking working.

I couldn’t stop thinking of that ultrasound. That tiny thing with a heartbeat that cracked my goddamn soul wide open. It was the sound of a new life—a life Mila and I created. Funny how that worked, though. I knew she was pregnant. I knew Mila was carrying my child. But it wasn’t until I heard that fast, rhythmic pulse that the penny dropped. That I realized this was all fucking real.

I was going to be a father. I was going to be responsible for a tiny human being. How did this all happen? When did fate decide my life needed to do a complete one-eighty?

A few months ago, my life was a one-way road to ruining my father. Mila was nothing more than a name on a checklist. Collateral damage in a war that had been raging for years. Now, she was my wife—not because she had no choice, but because somewhere on my path to vengeance, I fell in love. Lines blurred, and my vision got corrupted by the prospects of feeling something other than hate and disdain.

And now she was pregnant. The biggest what-the-fuck moment of my entire existence.

The bartender placed a new drink on a napkin in front of me. “Bad day?”

I picked up the glass. “Do you ask because I look like shit? Or because I look like the kind of man you can just start random conversations with, assuming I wouldn’t think twice before slamming your face into this fucking marble countertop?”

“Jesus Christ. Relax, man.”

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