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

She looked down at where our fingers weaved together. “Just because I was born to a wealthy family doesn’t mean I deserved a life on the streets any less than those people currently sleeping with empty stomachs.”

I touched her chin and eased closer to her so our eyes could meet. “Your heart is pure, Mila. It’s beautiful—admirable, even.” I placed my thumb on her bottom lip. “But in the world we currently live in, your heart will be the weight that pulls you under, and you will drown.”

“Funny,” she leaned closer, lips lightly parted, “here I thought you’d be the storm I’d eventually drown in.”

I slipped my hand around her throat, her pulse racing against my fingertips. “What a beautiful demise it would be, my wife immersed within the elixir of my obsession.”

Her warm breath brushed against my cheek. “Only you can do that.”

“Do what?”

“Describe my demise as this beautiful act of love. A death desired by all women around the world.”

I stifled a laugh and looked at her with a grin. “It’s a talent.”

“No, it’s a curse.” She slanted a brow and leaned back in the seat, turning her head so she could stare out the window. “I must admit, I didn’t think I’d ever see New York again.”

“And I’d be a liar if I said I had been planning on your return to this city, or even this continent.”

“Everything has changed, hasn’t it, Saint?”

I settled into the leather seat as I too stared out the passenger side window at the city lights that passed in one big blur. “It has. Question is,” I turned to face her, “if we had the chance to do anything differently, would we?”

Her emerald eyes locked on to mine. “I never would have stepped into that elevator.”

“I never would have said all those things to you the day you ran from me the first time.”

She stared at me questioningly. “Out of all the things you did, that’s what you’d change?”

I shrugged. “It was the only time I spoke words I didn’t mean.”

“Yet you’ve said so many hurtful things to me.”

“Of which I meant every word,” I straightened my jacket sleeves, “except the ones I scorned you with two seconds before you ran from me.”

I was a proud man. It was about the only thing my father and I had in common. Russo pride. I had lost count of how many lives I had taken because of actions that reflected negatively on the pride that pulsated through my veins. So, for me to sit there and admit I had said hurtful things to her which held no merit was a small gesture, a tiny glimpse of the immeasurable change this woman had brought forth in me. Mila was right; everything had changed.

Including me.

2

Mila

I couldn’t keepmy eyes open. The exhaustion set in so heavily I could feel it in the soles of my feet. On our flight to New York, I tried to get some shut-eye, but my racing thoughts kept me from powering off—from flipping the switch so I could rest.

The dynamic between Saint and me had changed. It shifted. I no longer saw the man who killed Brad in cold blood. I saw the man who killed my brother so he could save me. A powerful man who would happily carry the blood of others on his hands if it meant keeping me safe. How was that for irony? The same man who didn’t think twice in doing me harm in order to get what he wanted was now the man who would maim and murder to keep me out of harm’s way.

I glanced at him, the power he exuded practically pinning me to my seat. His confidence was his armor, the steel that both protected and intimidated. Marcello Saint Russo was a force to be reckoned with, an enemy you didn’t want to go up against, and an ally you wouldn’t dare to cross.

Whether it was he who changed, or I who now looked at him in a completely different way—he was no longer the man I married with tears in my eyes and fear in my heart. But the drastic change didn’t appease me because now I had no idea what to expect. I believed him when he said he loved me. It was there in his eyes, the way his crystal blue irises beamed with something light and pure when he looked at me. But the darkness was still there swirling in the corners, a looming threat that would force its way out from under the shadows and destroy everything in its path. That was the part that scared me most, wondering if I—I clutched my stomach—if we would be collateral damage once Saint’s darkness decided it had been suppressed for long enough.

“A penny for your thoughts.” Saint brushed the back of his hand down my cheek, and I closed my eyes, loving the way his touch no longer made me quake in fear but rather shiver with anticipation.

“I’m just excited to see the apartment.”

He gripped my chin and forced me to look up. “Your eyes.”

“What about them?”

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