Page 27 of Saint

-A.

I closed my eyes. I don't know when he had time to write that, but it was clear to me that when he showed up here, Alfie knew there was a good chance I would send him away. That what had happened the other night would be too much for me to handle.

Alfie had left me a way out, anyway.

The thought of seeing him again made my stomach turn to lead. I was weak. Too weak to shoulder the fear of losing him, too weak to resist him. Anger boiled in my gut, fierce and intense, and I threw the book at the wall, wishing it was his head.

God damn that man.

God damn him for being so persistent, so stubborn, so...him.

I pushed up from the ground and dusted my pants off.

I left the book where it was.

The walk home was annoyingly beautiful. It was one of those late spring days tinged at the edge with the promise of breathless summer nights, the kind that make people stop and think that maybe they have a chance at being happy. A light breeze stirredthe air, carrying the scent of flowers and freshly cut grass, but it only reminded me of the way his body felt against mine that day in the park. Sea-glass eyes and auburn curls painted by the setting sun. Strong hands, soft lips. A beautifully battered heart beating steadily against mine. It had felt so right to be with him, but I knew it wasn't. It couldn't be.

I couldn't let myself love him.

The Moretti mansion loomed ahead of me. The house was enormous, an ostentatious display of wealth and power. The stonework and iron gates were designed to intimidate, and the grounds were carefully manicured to show off how much money Lorenzo had. I'd never really felt like it was home, not like the bookstore.

I walked up the front steps and let myself in the side entrance. The hallways were empty, quiet, and the click of my heels sounded far too loud in the silence. It suffocated me. I took the stairs two at a time, wanting nothing more than to lock myself in my room and try to forget everything.

"Emilia."

My stepfather’s voice stopped me in my tracks. "Sir."

Lorenzo was a mountain of a man, with a broad chest and muscular arms that had only recently begun to turn soft with age, his greying hair neatly slicked back. He looked every inch the Don he was, but the smile he was wearing didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Home from work early?"

I shrugged. "Slow day."

"Good. You deserve a day off--you've been working too hard," he said. "I've missed you. It's been too long since you've joined us for dinner."

I plucked at some lint on my sweater, wondering if he could tell I've been crying. "I'm sorry, it was just a...a big project I was wrapped up in. It's over, now."

"I hope this means I'll see more of you now, then," he said, giving me that look that always made me feel like a kid all over again. The one that said he expected me to do what he wanted without question. "Our family needs to stick together, now more than ever, hmm?"

I tried not to let my exhaustion show. "Yes, sir."

"I've told you, Emilia. Enough with the sir. Titles are for the plebs, and you are far too precious to me for that." Two fingers tilted my chin up to meet his eyes. "Lorenzo is fine...or father, if you prefer."

My skin crawled beneath his touch. "Yes...Lorenzo."

"That's better." His thumb brushed along my cheekbone, and I did my best not to flinch away. "Now, go clean up. Dinner is at seven, and I expect you to be on time."

"Of course."

"Good girl." He gave me another one of those smiles, and I waited until he'd disappeared down the hallway before I let out a shaky breath.

I should have headed up to my room to dress, but I couldn't stomach the thought of putting up a facade. Not yet. Instead, my feet carried me out into the garden.

The Moretti garden was like something out of a painting, all lush foliage and ornate stonework. It was just organized enough to be elegant, but wild enough to feel alive. My favorite spot was tucked away in the back, beneath an ancient arbor covered in ivy and morning glories, surrounded by lilacs and roses and foxglove.

That was where Luca found me, eyes closed, my face turned up to the sky as if its warmth would burn away every last memory of Alfie.

"You soak up any more sun, and you're liable to turn into a flower yourself." Luca's voice startled me out of my thoughts. He was standing near the arbor, his hands in his pockets, giving methat look that meant he wasn't going to leave until he'd said his piece.

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