Page 25 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

“You heard me. The second you put your foot out that door with the intention of divorce, you walk away with half of everything. Money. Property. Businesses.”

“Shares,” I interrupted.

“Yes. Shares too. But not the Torres shares.”

I frowned in question, my mind reeling in a thousand different directions at once.

“Turn the page.” He placed his hand on the table and leaned toward me, holding my gaze with intent. “Go on. Read further.”

I kept my eyes on him as I turned the page, only dropping my gaze to the black ink a second later.

I placed a palm in front of my mouth as I started to read. “What…what does that even mean?”

“It means that once I sign those papers, you are the sole owner of Torres Shipping,” he straightened then shrugged, “safe from the five percent you will receive once our child is born.”

Stunned, I sat down on the chair and placed the papers on the table in front of me. “What is going on here, Saint? What the hell are you doing?”

Without taking his eyes off me, he pulled the papers closer and reached for a pen from his shirt pocket. “Atoning.” He looked down and started initialing each page. “This is my attempt at making things right.”

“Saint—”

“You are now,” he signed the last page, “the owner of Torres Shipping.” He straightened and dropped the papers in front of me. “And half of everything I own is yours the second you sign divorce papers—which you are free to do at any time. Just say the words.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand? It’s simple.”

I pulled my hair back as I slipped my fingers through the curls. “But you went through all this trouble. You killed and kidnapped, bribed and manipulated, in order to get your hands on those shares. And now you’re not just giving my share of the company back, but yours too? Why?”

He pulled out a chair and sat down to my left. “Things changed.” It was two simple words, but his answer was much more complicated than that. “Take a look at the other files.”

I held up my hand. “Just give me a moment to process this before you drop another fucking bomb on me.”

He frowned with a sly grin. “You are really going to have to work on that dirty mouth of yours around our child, Mila.”

“I’m pretty sure he or she will understand the need for an f-bomb whenever their dad drops something this huge on their mom.”

His full lips curved into an amused smile. “I like the sound of that.”

“Of what?’

“You and me being referred to as mom and dad.”

“Don’t,” I warned.

“Don’t what?”

I got up and started pacing, my head filled with nothing but a chaotic mess of incoherent thoughts. “You are…” I paced some more, “you are—dammit. You know, Saint,” I paused and looked at him, “you are one rich, calculated, and manipulative bastard.”

“I won’t argue that.” He shot me a smug grin, as if what I said didn’t insult him. It just stated the obvious, according to him. He stood and grabbed another file which I hadn’t even noticed. “While I’m a rich, calculated, manipulative bastard,” he tossed the file across the table toward me, “I’m also a man who doesn’t think twice about getting his hands dirty if it means getting shit done.” He leveled me with his stare. “And in your case, I finished a few things that should have been dealt with years ago.”

I stilled, my hands rubbing up and down my arms. “What are you talking about?”

He nudged toward the file. “Open it.”

“No. Nah-ah. I am not opening another one of your files that may or may not just confuse the crap out of me some more.” I placed a finger against my skull. “I’m already completely mindfucked as it is. One minute, I wake up smiling, thinking of you and how good it feels to know that you love me.” I started pacing again. “The next minute, my heart is shattered when you tell me to leave and that you won’t follow me. And then when I don’t leave, you come home drunk, confess this huge secret that changes the entire dynamic between us. And then the next morning, you try to seduce me on the deck with your hand in my panties as if you asking me to leave has never happened.” I paused and looked his way. “Now you have this postnuptial agreement—which I’ve never heard of, by the way—telling me that whenever I walk out that door, half of everything you own is mine? Oh, and Torres Shipping is now mine too.”

“Sounds about right.” He shrugged, acting aloof, calm, and collected while my mind was on the verge of exploding.

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