Page 21 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

I straightened in my seat. “Are you referring to who I think you are?”

He nodded. “Katarina Torres, we found her.”

I stared out over the table in front of me. “Where?”

“Spain.”

I looked up at him. “Spain?”

“Raphael had her admitted to a clinic, claiming the woman had dementia.”

“Does she?”

He shrugged. “Knowing what a piece of shit Raphael was, my guess is no.”

“Why, though? Why have her admitted?”

James placed his hands in his pants pockets. “The information passed on to me is that Katarina did not approve of him selling his shares to your father.”

“Wise woman,” I remarked. “So, Raphael stuck mommy-dearest in a clinic where she couldn’t cause him any problems.”

I placed my hands on the table, my fingers weaved together. It didn’t surprise me that Raphael went to such extreme lengths to get what he wanted. The man was a twisted fucker who would have done anything to buy his way into the underground and play his hand at human trafficking while snorting his drugs. It was fuckers like him who needed to be weeded out of the world—and thankfully, I was on the other end of the gun that sent that bullet into his skull, catapulting him straight to the pits of hell.

I sat back and tapped a finger on the table. “Go get her.”

“Will we bring her here?”

I glanced over my shoulder in the direction of Mila’s room. “Yes. Bring Katarina here.”

“I’ll make arrangements right away.” James’s heavy footsteps moved in the other direction.

“James?”

“Yes, sir?”

I gave him a determined look. “Raphael must have had someone on the inside of that clinic who was on his payroll. Make sure that person is dead by next week.”

“Absolutely.”

With a nod I dismissed him and watched as he headed to the foyer. One could never put a price on loyalty, and James was one of the most loyal motherfuckers I’d ever known. I was pretty sure if I had to go to hell, James would follow and be my own personal gatekeeper.

After hearing the elevator doors shut, I relaxed into the chair, drinking extra strong coffee and hoping it would clear my head from the bourbon induced fog that smothered my mind. But even through the toxic haze of a hangover, I could still see her face. How her eyes immediately lost their brilliance the instant she grasped the magnitude of my secret. My unspoken truth gutted her like a dagger coated in lies, its poison infecting her with every passing second. I could practically hear her thoughts plunge into the ugly depths of my deception and question every touch, every kiss, every embrace. That one secret had the power to destroy a thousand moments, and after seeing the hurt in her eyes, I wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive me.

The longer I stood there witnessing her pain, the more I hated myself. I hated myself for turning her world upside down.

I hated myself for dragging her into my world.

I hated myself for manipulating her, using her, hurting her.

I hated myself for falling in love with her.

But most of all…I hated myself for allowing her to fall for me. I never should have entertained the idea of us being husband and wife in its true form.

I never should have given her hope. Her pain was my doing, another thing to haunt me until the day I let out my last breath.

She might still be here under my roof, refusing my offer of her freedom. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t lost her. It only meant she would leave on her terms, and not mine. Probably the last hurrah of her epic defiance to my every demand.

Fuck you, Saint. If you tell me to leave, I’ll glue my ass to your front door. Demand that I stay, and I’ll run every chance I get.

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