The Rise of Saint
Page 6
I swung the door open. Saint was leaning against his desk, arms crossed in front of him like he had been waiting for me all along. “I knew you wouldn’t have the manners to knock first.”
Purposely, I left the door open and stepped inside. “If you know me so well, you’d know I’m not the type to get kidnapped and submit to some sick bastard who gets pleasure out of fucking sex slaves.”
He snorted. “Is that why you think you’re here, to be my sex slave?”
“I’ve heard enough kidnapping stories to think it might be, yes.”
“A sex slave. I have to say, the thought is quite,” he sucked a breath through his teeth, “titillating.” His gaze swept down my body, studying me, unclothing me. Terrifying me. Everything about this man screamed power and savagery. Raw seduction amplified by his stately presence.
His hands dropped to the edge of the rich mahogany desk, a long finger tapping against the wood.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap. It was almost the exact rhythm of my heartbeat, an ominous prelude of what was to come.
I shifted from one leg to the other. “What does the word segreto mean?”
“It’s Italian for secret.”
“Is that what I am, a secret?”
With a wicked grin, he replied, “You have no idea.”
The way he responded unnerved me, but I tried my best to not show it. “You said you had answers.”
“I also said you should take a shower.”
With a shaky hand, I flipped wild curls over my shoulder. “I guess answers take precedence over hygiene.”
A smile appeared on his face, his chiseled jaw ticking with the movement. “You’re not very good at following orders, are you?”
“I’m not good at being kidnapped either.”
His leather shoes creaked as he pushed himself off the desk, gesturing for me to sit in the black armchair in front of him. “Take a seat, Mila.”
“I prefer to stand.”
He tilted his head slightly as he rounded his desk. “That attitude of yours is sure to get you in a lot of trouble.”
“More trouble than I’m already in?”
Sapphires beaming with tempting darkness. “Much more.”
Two words. Simple words. Yet it carried the power of a hurricane.
“Sit. Down.” His jaw clenched and eyes blazed. It left no room for questioning and awakened a stirring need to obey.
Pursed lips and shoulders no longer squared with confidence, I took a seat, refusing to break eye contact.
“Good girl.” There was a hint of amusement in his remark.
“Don’t call me that.”
Without looking away, he tossed a brown envelope on his desk in front of me. “Your family. Everything you need to know is in there.”
It was like swallowing glass. “My family?”
“Yes.” He took a seat. “Open it.”
Somehow, staring at that envelope, knowing it might hold all the answers I’d ever wanted—it scared the shit out of me. For twenty-two years, it was the last thought I had at night and the first when I woke up. Who was my real family? Where were they? And why didn’t they want me? Now, thinking all the answers were a mere arm’s length away was daunting, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready. I shifted in the seat before looking across the desk at Saint. “Why don’t you tell me?”
His brow slanted in question. “Tell you what?”
“Tell me what I need to know.”
“It’s all there in that envelope. I assure you.”
“I want you to tell me what it is you think I need to know.”
A subtle grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Are you afraid, Mila?”
“Of what?”
“Of what’s inside it.”
I scoffed and looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Do you blame me?”
“Not in the least. But this is it. Everything you’ve ever wanted to know about your family is right there in front of you.”
“Will it tell me what you want with me? Why you took me and brought me here?”
A stiff silence settled, so tight it was like a rubber band which could snap at any second.
His gaze didn’t falter as he leaned back, eyes narrowed, rubbing a finger across the stubble of his five o’clock shadow—the simple act drawing all my attention to his chiseled jaw and annoyingly perfect lips. I could see the veins beneath the tanned skin of his hand, and it made me think of strength and power, liquid domination that pulsed through his blood. Memories of how it felt having his hands wrapped around my wrist and throat bombarded my mind, leaving me breathless in a second of imagining him as something other than my kidnapper. It was insane, and I hated how my body reacted to him.
The expression on his face was guarded, and I had no way of knowing what he was thinking. But I wanted to. I wanted to know what kind of thoughts he harbored when he looked at me with such intensity. What he felt when he stared at me.
“I’ll tell you what.” He got up, and I held my breath as he moved in front of me and rested against the desk, fingers gripping the edges, legs crossed at his ankles. The way he looked at me, the way he moved, spoke. The way he breathed was like he had been born to seduce. The darkness that surrounded him had a certain allure—a toxic mix of sex and hate. Dangerous. Wicked. Lethal. It rolled off him in waves, and it crashed against every bone in my dissolute body.
My heartbeat quickened, the scent of his expensive cologne drifting past, thorns of unsolicited lust pricking my insides. I had to swallow the glass in my throat and breathe past the ice in my lungs.
He picked up the envelope, holding it between his fingers. “You have a choice. Either you look inside this envelope right now, or I tell you what I think you need to know.” He pulled a gold-plated Zippo lighter from his jacket pocket. “But if you choose not to open it, I’ll burn it along with everything inside it right now.” His thumb flicked the flint-wheel, the flame burning beneath the brown paper. “I’m giving you this choice, Mila.”
“Why?” My voice cracked. “Why would you burn it?”
The expression on his face was clear, completely void of any emotion. But his eyes were a storm of blue clouds—strong and threatening. “Life is all about choices. Question is, are you strong enough to carry the consequences of the choices you make?”
It was there. I heard it. The challenge. The dare. A silent, tempting whisper urging me to take up the gauntlet. I wanted to. I wanted to show him I was brave enough, prove to him that he didn’t scare me even though sweat beaded at the back of my neck. But could I trust him? Could I trust that he would tell me everything I needed to know? Of course not. The man kidnapped me, for fuck’s sake. He took me against my will after he killed Brad in cold blood. There was no negotiating, no discussion. He just stormed into my life, unapologetically creating chaos like there was no other option. The man couldn’t be trusted—especially when he looked at me with those deceptive blue eyes. Like the ocean, it lured you in, only to keep you under until you drowned in its beauty. This man was the devil in an Armani suit and Italian leather shoes.
I couldn’t trust him. Never.
But like a stupid moth, I couldn’t stop myself from flying to the flame even though I knew it would incinerate me.
Steeling myself and lifting my chin with confidence, I got to my feet in front of him, our eyes leveled and focused. “Burn it.”
A victorious smirk tugged at the edges of his mouth, the tip of his tongue lapping at the center of his bottom lip. Without saying a word or taking his eyes off mine, he lit the envelope, flames growing bigger and brighter on the side until he dropped it in the steel trashcan next to his desk.
I didn’t break eye contact but saw the flames from the corner of my eye, burning all the answers I’d ever wanted. The smell of paper being incinerated with what I could only assume were pages of secrets filled the room. And for the longest time, while Saint had his eyes fixed on me, it felt like my body was about to burst int
o flames.
Abruptly, he reached out, grabbed my hip, and pulled me against him. A rush of air escaped my lungs as he forced a thick thigh between my legs, his touch hard and unyielding as his fingers bit into the flesh above my hipbone. My lips parted, a flash of sordid lust rushing up my body.
“What if I told you that you just made the biggest mistake of your life?”
His mouth was a whisper away from mine, and I sucked in a breath as if it was possible to taste him through the air between us. “I’d say I’m hardly surprised.”
“Then why do it?”
I glanced down at the trashcan and the glowing embers of what was left of all my answers. “Because I’m afraid that whatever was in that envelope was an even bigger devil than you.”
All I could do was hold my breath when he took my chin between his fingers and forced me to face him. His gaze dropped to my mouth as he placed a thumb on my lips, pressing hard as he slowly dragged it down. He bit his own lip as if he was starved to taste mine. The air grew laden with sexual hunger and primal desires that suffocated the fear, and panic with venomous seduction. I had no idea what was happening, or why my body reacted to his touch the way it did. But in that moment, I was helpless against it.
His thigh stirred between my legs, and every muscle in my core tightened, causing my eyes to roll shut. My lips made a light smacking sound as his thumb finally let go. “Trust me, segreto. There is no bigger devil than me.”
If his goal was to elicit fear, it wasn’t working. Not while his hard body was pressed against me, his thigh between my legs, and his lips hovering so close to mine. But if his goal was to seduce me into doing his bidding, I’d say he was on the right damn road, close to accomplishing it.
Slipping my arm between our bodies, I gradually moved it up inch by inch, feeling his ripped body through the fabric of his dress shirt. Blue swirls turned to dark spirals of slate as our eyes remained locked. I reached his chest and I took a few seconds to admire every curve of hard muscle with my fingertips before pushing myself away from him, the absence of his thigh causing my core to clench.
With my lips pursed, I took another step back, needing some distance from him, desperate to smother the flames that burned inside me. “Now, you need to tell me what it is you think I should know.”
A lazy grin turned into a wicked smile. “Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Does it matter?”
My eyes cut down to his crotch, the fabric tight and strained around his visible hard-on. I swallowed hard, clenching my thighs yet again. The look on his face was that of sheer amusement. He knew exactly what I was looking at, my cheeks probably giving away how flustered I really was.
Straightening his suit jacket, he cleared his throat and went to take his seat behind his desk.
“Sit.”
“I think I want to stand.” I was still struggling to breathe normally.
“Sit. Down.”
“Jesus,” I muttered, reluctantly putting my ass in the armchair.
He leaned back, looking relaxed yet fucking almighty—like a king about to burn an entire city to the ground without blinking. “Have you ever heard of Torres Shipping?”
“No. Should I have?”
“One would think, since it’s your family’s company.”
My heart fluttered like a bewildered bird trapped in a panic.
Saint took my silence as his cue to continue. “Your family is one of the richest families in Italy, Mila.”
“What? That can’t be.”
The expression on his face remained unchanged, and I knew it wasn’t bullshit.
I shook my head. “If they are so rich, why…why did they give me away?” I always thought the reason my family didn’t keep me was obvious. No money. No means of taking care of me.
“Are you ready for a little history lesson?” Saint grinned, and chills ran down my spine, warning knocking at the back of my skull. That was the moment I knew the conversation that would follow was going to change my entire life. It was there in his eyes, the way he looked at me—like a devil about to tell a saint hell was waiting.
The dark walls of his study started to close in around me, and I desperately wanted to open the shutters of the window behind him to inhale some fresh air.
Saint placed a hand on his crossed leg. “Eighty-six years ago, a deal was made between your family and the Russo family.”
“Who are they?”
“Shut up and listen,” he warned, the low tenor of his voice making it clear there was no room for debating. “The deal would ensure the merger of two of the most powerful families in Italy.”
I sat back. “What was the deal?”
His finger started tapping again, and annoyance flashed in his eyes, a pointed stare pinning me to my seat. “The firstborn daughter of the Torres family would marry the firstborn Russo son.”
“What?” I blurted. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m dead serious.”
My lips parted as I gaped in disbelief. “Is this some bullshit joke you’re trying to pull on me right now?”
Long fingers weaved together as he clutched his hands. “Do I look like the kind of man who bullshits?”
It was impossible for me to make any sense of what he was trying to tell me, and I shook my head. “This can’t be happening.”
He held up a hand, silencing me. “Let me finish. Giovanni Russo and Roberto Torres were close friends. Roberto was on the verge of bankruptcy, risking losing everything he owned, and that included Torres Shipping. Giovanni gave him the money he needed to save his company without expecting repayment. All he asked was that the two families would become one in the form of an arranged marriage.”
“Jesus Christ.” I sighed. “Besides the fact that this is completely ludicrous, why so specific, a Russo son and Torres daughter? Why not vice versa?”
“Because the Russos hadn’t had a firstborn daughter in centuries. They were known for their long legacy of firstborn sons—sons who became even more powerful than their ancestors.”
I pulled both hands through my hair, thinking I should pinch myself and wake up from this sixteenth-century hell. “Okay, let’s say I believe you. This was eighty-six years ago. What does this have to do with me now?”
Saint placed his elbows on the armrests, clutching his fists together in front of him. “As fate would have it, after the deal was made, the Torres family never had another daughter as a firstborn.” He licked his lips. “And the deal specifically said it had to be a firstborn child.”
With wary eyes, I stared back at him. “I’m not going to like the next part, am I?”
“You, Mila, were the first firstborn Torres girl in years.”
Sand scraped down my throat as I swallowed. My hands shook, and I didn’t think I was ever this terrified in my entire life, my body flushing from hot to cold, and back to hot in seconds.
Saint shrugged. “Unfortunately, as the years went by without a Torres daughter to complete the deal, conflict developed between the two families.”
“What conflict?”
“That’s not important. What’s important is your parents refused to uphold their family’s part of the deal. The day after you were born, they made a public announcement saying their daughter, Milana Katarina Torres, died less than two hours after birth.”
I sucked in a breath. “No,” I whispered.
“They shipped you off to the United States. Placed you in the foster system, going on pretending you had died, all because they refused to have their daughter marry the newest firstborn Russo son.”
I jumped up from my seat, my head spinning with the worst case of vertigo I ever had. “Are you saying they gave me up because they didn’t want me marrying some Russo firstborn?”
All he gave me was a simple nod, and I started pacing, my thoughts racing at a thousand miles per second.
“Who…I mean,” my voice shook, “there had to be a reason they’d rather give me up than see me marry a Russo.”
Unshed tears made my throat feel thick and narrow, my insides coiled tight, barbed wire threatening to slice my gut to pieces. “This can’t be. This can’t be it.” Disbelief clouded my head in a mist of doubt. “This can’t be the reason my mom and dad gave me up.”
He shrugged as if what he just told me was as simple as one plus one. “It’s the truth.”
“They sent me off, not knowing where I’d end up, all because they didn’t want me fulfilling a decades-old debt? That’s insane.”
I sat back down in the chair, roughly pulling my hair back out of my face. Tears had already escaped, and I wiped them away with the back of my hand. “Did they send you to find me? My parents. Is that why you took me?”
A silence as heavy as a thunderstorm slammed down around us, all the air suddenly sucked out of the room.
“No, Mila. They didn’t send me.”
My eyes narrowed as suspicion swirled with dizzying waves in my belly. “Then why? Why did you come for me? Why now?”
As always, his expression remained unreadable, like he felt nothing while he told me the real reason I had to survive one fucked-up foster family after the other—why I had to fight for my own survival since I could fucking walk.
He sat up, strong elbows placed on the desk in front of him, his every feature as hard as stone. “For over twenty years, the Russo family thought the Torres girl died at birth, until an anonymous letter addressed to the firstborn Russo son stated that Milana Katarina Torres was indeed alive, hidden somewhere in the United States.”
Realization dawned on me like lightning cracking through a storm. “Segreto. That’s why you call me segreto.”
“Your parents did a very good job hiding you. By putting you in the system rather than spending their money on finding you some wealthy American family, they made sure there was absolutely nothing that could trace Mila Black back to them. They had everyone fooled for years.”