The Rise of Saint

by J, Bella

  Scorn dripped from his words, and it sent chills down my spine. I had been on the receiving end of Saint’s anger, but I had never heard such intense hatred in his voice before now.

  A younger man stood—green eyes, dark hair neatly cut at the sides, longer curls left on the top. There was something familiar about him, his face, his expression. And the longer I looked at him, the more I begun to realize who he was. “Raphael?”

  “I don’t know who you are or what the hell you think you are doing, but if this is some kind of joke, it is not funny.” His disbelief was amplified with the anger in his voice, and I kept inching closer to Saint.

  “I can assure you it is no fucking joke.” Saint glanced at Mario and back at Raphael. “My lawyer has all the proof you need to settle any doubt you might have of her identity. But honestly, Raphael, can you not see the resemblance? It’s uncanny. I’m sure if you grow your hair, you’d easily pass for a Torres girl.” His grin complimented his sarcasm.

  Raphael’s gaze shifted from Saint and settled on me, his face screwed up with obvious confusion.

  “Milana? How is this…how is this possible?”

  “It’s a—”

  “Something we can discuss later,” Saint interrupted and shot me a warning glare, reminding me we weren’t there for a family reunion. But Raphael rushed closer, almost a head taller than I was.

  “You…Is this really you?”

  Tears threatened to break through my act, to tear away the brave face I had promised myself I would keep up. For years, I imagined a day like this—the day I’d meet someone from my real family, reunite with the family I truly belonged with. Night after night, I wondered if I had a sister or a brother, and whether they had been given up at birth too. It had crossed my mind so many times that maybe, if I had a sibling somewhere in the world, they were going through the exact same hell as I was. Cruel foster parents, locked closets, and endless nights of wishing for a better life. For the unconditional love of family. And now I finally stared into the eyes of the brother I never knew I had, a sibling I dreamed about playing with as a child.

  “You died.” Raphael’s eyes were wide, cheeks pale. “I remember Mom and Dad taking me to your grave. I saw your grave.”

  A tear escaped. I couldn’t stop it. It was so surreal to look at a man and know he was my brother. The same blood that ran through my veins pulsed in his.

  “Is it really—”

  I nodded and pressed my lips together, desperate to not break down.

  “Oh, my God.” He reached out, his arms open wide, and I wanted to go to him. But Saint pulled me back and placed a threatening hand on Raphael’s chest.

  “Touch my wife, and you’ll lose your hands.”

  Instantly, Raphael backed down, his eyes cold and hardened. The way he and Saint glared at each other made their dislike painfully clear. And Saint’s tight grip on my hand was a silent warning for me to remember what mattered most here today. And that was Saint getting what he wanted.

  Raphael pulled a hand through his hair before returning to his seat. Saint took the opportunity to lean down and whispered against my ear, “Keep your shit together.”

  I swallowed hard and shifted from one leg to the other. I turned so I could see Elena, needing just a glance of comfort. Only then did I notice she wasn’t there. It was only James who stood by the door as if he was ready to stop anyone from getting in or out.

  Saint straightened. “Oh, and congratulations on celebrating your twenty-first birthday, Raphael. Here to collect your shares?”

  “As the matter of fact, yes.”

  “And then sell them to me,” Saint’s father chimed in with a smirk. “All fifty-six percent of it, to be exact.”

  “Oh, about that—Mario, please enlighten these gentlemen.” Saint didn’t take his eyes off his father, and I felt his hatred radiate off him.

  Mario cleared his throat and pulled a set of documents form his briefcase. “As you know, Mr. Torres,” he pointed at Raphael, “inherits a total of forty-six percent shares now that he is of age.”

  “Fifty-six,” he stated dryly.

  “I’ll get to that in a bit.” Mario handed the documents to Raphael and Mr. Russo, who then gave them to the man sitting next to him—who I assumed was his attorney. “These are all the documents to prove Milana Torres did not, in fact, die at birth, but was placed in the US child welfare system. Birth certificate, DNA reports. It’s all there.”

  “Well, hooray.” Mr. Russo sat down. “I’m ecstatic for the Torres family. Although I don’t see what this has to do with what is happening here today.”

  Mario opened his mouth, but Saint let go of my hand and stepped forward. “You see, Father, that last little clause on Francesco Torres’s will clearly states that ten percent of the company shares goes to the firstborn child.”

  “And that’s me,” Raphael interrupted, but the way Mr. Russo’s face paled, eyes wide and dark, he knew what Saint was about to say next.

  Saint grinned like the Cheshire cat who was just served his favorite meal. “Think about it, Raphael. Think about it very hard.”

  “What are you doing, son?” Mr. Russo leaned back in his seat.

  “Those ten percent shares belong to Mila, and that means even if Raphael is stupid enough to sell you his shares, I own the majority shares now since my wife has willingly given me ownership of her shares. So, let’s do the math for the poor boy who is still trying to figure out how his older sister is, in fact, the firstborn.” Saint’s every word was laced with sarcasm. “My thirty-nine percent, plus Mila’s ten, gives me a forty-nine percent share in Torres Shipping. That’s three percent more than you’ll own after Raphael signs his over to you for what I can only assume is way less than it’s worth since we all know what a fucking lying bastard you are.”

  This wasn’t right. Nothing about what was happening felt right, and the longer I stood there, the heavier this sickening feeling started to weigh inside my stomach. The atmosphere was far beyond toxic, and with each breath, the air that settled in my lungs became less and less. Bile was slowly creeping up my throat, my skin nothing but cold chills against the soft fabric of my blouse.

  Raphael leaned toward who I assumed was his attorney and glared at me as he whispered while Saint and Mr. Russo stared like wild animals who were seconds away from tearing each other apart.

  I took a step back, my heel dipping into the carpet.

  “We both know the real reason you want those shares, Father,” Saint sneered.

  “You don’t know anything, son.”

  “Oh, trust me. I know fucking everything.”

  Hate. Rage. Disdain. Malevolence. The atmosphere was laden with it, and I was finally able to grasp a tiny piece of the puzzle, of why Saint went to such drastic measures to get his hands on the ten percent I didn’t even know I owned. It was a power struggle. A power struggle between two men—two beasts who clearly only wanted to destroy each other.

  I took another step back, and another. James had moved to stand closer to Saint, the perfect guard dog protecting his master. But me, I couldn’t be there any longer. This square room had become the Colosseum, Saint and his father, along with my brother, were the gladiators about to brutally destroy one another. I couldn’t stand there and be stuck in the middle of this war, listen how they spoke about me as if I was nothing but an object—a weapon they could use to ruin one another. So, I stormed out the door, and the click of my heels on floors resonated around me. Tears poured down my cheeks, a whirlpool of emotion raging in me, threatening to pull me underwater. I wasn’t strong enough to keep myself from drowning—not anymore. Running away from it all was the only way I could stop the storm from sucking me in.

  I moved as fast as my high heels would let me, but a strong hand wrapped around my elbow, pulled me back, and I yelped when my body crashed into Saint’s.

  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

  “Let me go,” I begged, no longer able to act like a Russo wife.
>
  Saint’s cruel hands gripped my shoulders as he shook me, his eyes a hurricane of destruction. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

  “You!” I cried. “You are what’s the matter with me. You have done nothing but hurt me ever since you forced your way into my life. You humiliated me, used me, and now this? I’m nothing but a fucking weapon for you to use to get what you want.” I tried to slam my fists against his chest, tearing at the white fabric of his shirt. “You ruined my goddamn life! I’m nothing but collateral damage to you. Nothing!” My screams echoed against the high ceiling and crashed against the concrete walls.

  “Jesus, Mila. I told you to trust me. Get a goddamn grip, and fucking trust me, okay?”

  “Fuck you, Saint. Fuck you and this entire mindfuck you took me on. You drag me through hell, and you can’t even give me five goddamn minutes to talk to my brother. Five fucking minutes. But no. It’s all about you. Everything is always about you, isn’t it? About what you want.” I sucked air through my teeth. “You are nothing but a selfish bastard who gets off by hurting others. A fucking monster. All of you are goddamn monsters.”

  Saint let go of my arms as if my skin had burned him. Orbs of blue blazed with something vile, mean, ripples of cruel anger rolling from his broad shoulders.

  He sliced through me with his piercing stare. “You say that as if I had pretended to be something else. As if I have given you a reason to think I am a good man,” he gritted out. “Did you think just because I creamed your cunt that it changed anything between us?” He took an intimidating step closer, his body a breath away from mine, and his top lip curled into a snarl. “You are nothing but a business transaction, Mila. Just a means to an end for me to get what I want. Fucking you didn’t change that.”

  Every word he spoke was coated in venom, and it poisoned me little by little, my heart slowly dying inside my chest. Every bone in my body splintered, broke, my spine snapped in half. It was the most pain I had ever felt in my entire life. Not even years of abuse, dark closets, and cigarette butts against my flesh hurt as much as his words.

  He grabbed my wrist, his fingers biting into my flesh. “James,” he called, “take Mila back to the Empress immediately.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with disdain. “I have no use for her here anymore.”

  It was like a slap to my face. A searing whip against my cheek. Not even the lashes of his belt left me with such anguish. My heart no longer beat, and my pulse no longer raced. There was only ice left inside me—hard, agonizing ice as cold as the glare in his eyes. It wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything but hatred for the man who stood before me. Instead, I felt pain. The gut-wrenching pain of a heart that had been ripped apart and left to bleed.

  Saint let go of my wrist for a split second as James reached for me, and that was when I ran. I didn’t know where I was running to, or where I’d go. All I knew was I needed to get as far away from Saint as possible. I couldn’t breathe around him anymore.

  People scrambled out of the way as I pushed through the crowd, desperate to get away.

  “Mila!” Saint yelled behind me, but I kept running. My feet ached in the heels, but I couldn’t risk slowing down to pull them off.

  I rushed through the brass swivel door and out into the road. I glanced up and down the street, not a clue in which direction I should go.

  “Mila!” Saint’s voice was close behind me, and I turned to see him push his way through a crowd of tourists. “Stop!”

  I shook my head, panic and adrenaline pummeling through my veins.

  “Mila!”

  I scrambled in the other direction and onto the road. The sound of screeching tires sliced my eardrums as cars braked harshly. It was chaos around me—inside me. Disoriented and hurt, panicked and afraid, I just kept running, not caring if I was hit by a car. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt as much as Saint’s cruel words that ripped my heart out.

  I finally managed to cross the street, motorists yelling and cursing at me for being so reckless, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting away from Saint and James, as far as I could.

  I snuck a glance behind me and saw Saint and James struggling to make their way through the busy traffic. It bought me a little time, and I rushed toward one of the side roads just as a black car screamed around the corner, coming to a stop right beside me. The passenger side door opened, and I heard the familiar voice. “Mila, get in. Get in now!”

  Oh, my God.

  “Mila, don’t! Get away from that car,” Saint yelled over the sound of hooting and speeding cars.

  “Mila,” the driver called, “get in the car. I can help you.”

  There I stood, at the side of the road, my mind a minefield of indecision. Everything around me went on mute. It was absolute silence except for the sound of my wildly beating heart as I watched Saint rush through traffic, desperate to get to me.

  For a single moment, I remembered how it felt when he kissed me in the limo, his lips seared into mine. That kiss was strong enough to make me believe there was more in him than just monsters, and maybe there was beauty hidden somewhere beneath all the ugliness and darkness. I allowed myself to think that maybe there was a part of him that cared…cared about me.

  But I was wrong.

  “Mila, stop!” Saint’s voice cracked through the silence, and I couldn’t get myself to move. I couldn’t find the strength to lift my feet off the asphalt as I watched him run toward me, screaming at me. “Don’t do it, Mila. Don’t get in that motherfucking car!”

  I wanted to think the reason he didn’t want me to go was because he cared about me. I was a fool to allow myself to even think he did. No matter how hard I wished it was true, it wasn’t. The only thing he cared about was getting what he wanted. His words meant nothing anymore, their only purpose to hurt and destroy. After weeks, after every kiss, every touch, and every powerful moment we shared, Saint was still the devil I met in that penthouse who dug his claws into my soul and snatched me away.

  I couldn’t trust him. Not ever.

  Another car drove right in front of him and hit the brakes. He slammed his fists on the roof of the car. “Mila, stop. Goddammit!”

  Tears stained my cheeks, and I swallowed the pain that sliced my chest like shards of glass.

  “I hate you,” I murmured, and the breeze carried the lie from my lips, right before I turned and jumped into the car, slamming the door shut.

  I glanced at the familiar face next to me. “Get me out of here.”

  To be continued in…

  THE FALL OF SIN

  Grab your copy here.

  Other Novels by Bella J

  American Street Kings

  Depraved (American Street Kings, Book 1)

  Defiant (American Street Kings, Book 2)

  Deranged (American Street Kings, Book 3)

  Destroyed (American Street Kings, Book 4)

  The Twisted Duet

  Blood and Lies (Twisted Duet, Book 1)

  Blood and Vows (Twisted Duet, Book 2)

  The Royal Mafia Series

  Mafia Princess (Royal Mafia, Book 1)

  Mafia Prince (Royal Mafia, Book 2)

  Mafia King (Royal Mafia, Book 3)

  Mafia Queen (Royal Mafia, Book 4)

  The Shattered Secrets Duet

  Regret (Shattered Secrets, Book 1)

  Torment (Shattered Secrets, Book 2)

  The Resplendence Series

  Ruin (Resplendence, Book 1)

  Rush (Resplendence, Book 2)

  Rage (Resplendence, Book 3)

  About the Author

  All the way from Cape Town, South Africa, Bella J lives for the days when she's able to retreat to her writer's cave where she can get lost in her little pretend world of romance, love, and insanely hot bad boys.

  Bella J is a Hybrid Author with both Self-Published and Traditional Published work. Even though her novels range from drama, to comedy, to suspense, it's the dark, twisted side of romance she loves the mo
st.

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