The Sins of Saint: A Dark Romance Novel Read online

  “It’s all smoke and mirrors with you, isn’t it, Saint?”

  “Jesus, Mila.” I grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, but she resisted, fought me by using all her strength to try to pull back.

  “You will never give me control.” She spat out the words and tried to twist her wrist from my grasp. “Especially when it comes to sex. You use sex as a fucking tool, Saint. A weapon to keep me in line, and to make sure I never forget that you control everything when it comes to me. To us.”

  I wrapped my fingers around her throat, squeezing tightly as I snarled, very much aware that she was pregnant, yet the anger fused with lust created a rage I couldn’t control.

  I brought her face close to mine and bit out my words between clenched teeth. “Spread those legs for me, Mila. Don’t make me ask again.”

  “No.”

  I squeezed her cheeks and grabbed her knee while biting my lip. My dick was so fucking hard, and the rageful lust that crippled my control had me seconds away from showing my wife the real meaning of owning her. “I said spread your legs so I can fuck some obedience into you.”

  She lifted her chin. “I said no.” Her emerald eyes were poisonous daggers of insurgence. “I know it’s not a word you’re used to hearing from women. Do you know what no means, Saint?”

  “You’re a smart girl. You tell me.”

  Her eyes remained pinned on mine. Not once did she cower by looking away, keeping my glare with determination burning in her irises. One would think after everything I had put her through she would have lost her fight, her zest, her vitality. But it seemed she had only grown stronger, bolder. Arguably, maybe even more foolish.

  I let go of her with a growl, and she fell back, grabbing her throat where my fingers had pinched her skin.

  “You think I’m stupid. That with everything we’ve been through I still don’t see how you play this game.”

  I jerked my pants up and fastened them, my cock still capable of cracking concrete. “This is not a game.”

  “Isn’t it?” she challenged, but I refused to dignify it with an answer.

  “This has been a game to you ever since the day I countered your demand of marriage by making a demand of my own.”

  “What?” I cut my gaze to her. “You’re talking about the orphanage.”

  “Yes. You didn’t think I would be brave enough to make my own demands, that I’d willingly comply to everything you wanted me to so I could just be free of you.”

  I shrugged as I straightened my jacket sleeves. “If I remember correctly, our deal was six months of your life in exchange for an orphanage.”

  “You and I both know those six months are null and void now that I’m pregnant.”

  “Exactly,” I snapped. “Everything has changed. Everything.”

  “No. Not everything.” I grabbed at the torn fabric as she tried to cover her breasts. “All those times you denied me pleasure, made me suffer through the ache of being unsated, toying with me—that was you teaching me a lesson. Proving to me that you own me like a goddamn possession when you should be loving me like you could lose me at any moment.”

  “You know I love you. I told you I loved you after I killed your brother by blowing his goddamn head off in order to save you.”

  “I know you did.” She righted herself, unshed tears sparkling like diamonds in her emerald eyes. “But now I need you to show me. I need you to show me that you love me.”

  “Sir.” James’s voice boomed through the speaker. “ETA is less than five minutes.”

  I pushed the button on the remote control. “Thanks, James.”

  A heavy silence settled between us. This was not the kind of result I had in mind when I pulled her over my lap with the intention of losing myself inside her. But I’d be a fool if I didn’t see her point. If I didn’t understand from which direction she was coming. This wasn’t a game anymore. This wasn’t about revenge against my father, or about a century-old debt owed to my family. It was about us, about the life we created. A life we had an obligation to protect, to put above everything else—even ourselves. Problem was, I didn’t know a life without a thirst for vengeance. My vendetta against my father was the only thing I’d ever known, revenge the only thing I’d ever craved…until her. Until Mila.

  I cleared my throat. “I told you this once before, and I’ll say it again. You’re my wife, and I won’t apologize.” I brushed my palm down my five o’clock shadow across my jaw. “Neither of us could have anticipated the situation we find ourselves in right now.”

  “The situation is a baby, Saint.”

  “Be careful, Mila,” I warned. “You might have won this round, but that does not mean I’ll tolerate sarcasm aimed at my expense.”

  I tapped my finger impatiently on the side bar of the door. “I’m not a man who makes a promise I’m not one hundred percent sure I can keep. But as the father of our child, I vow that everything I do from here on out, I do for us. You, me, and our baby.”

  I swallowed and turned to look at her just in time when a single tear made its journey down her cheek. I reached and wiped it away with the back of my hand. “Right now, that is the only solid promise I can give you, segreto.”

  “Stop calling me that. I’m not your secret anymore.”

  “You’ll always be my segreto, Mila.” I reached out, the desire that burned my loins now replaced with affection that warmed my chest. I palmed her cheek, my thumb dragging across her bottom lip. “Like a secret, I’ll guard you forever.”

  Her expression softened, but sadness still lingered in the color of her eyes. Yet she reached out and touched my hand, leaning deeper into my palm. For a moment, her eyes closed, and my heart swelled as I witnessed her finding comfort in my touch—finding solace in her husband’s touch.

  “Here.” I pulled off my jacket and placed it around her shoulders. “I’d hate to cut out the eyes of men who saw the beauty God had intended for only me to see.”

  “That’s a little much, don’t you think?” She slipped her arms through the oversized sleeves of my jacket.

  “Sei mio,” I whispered. “You are mine, Mila. If I so much as suspect another man desiring you, I will carve out his spine and feed it to the pigs.”

  She tucked a curl behind her ear. “I know I should be disturbed by what you just said, but I find it oddly sexy.”

  “There’s my Russo wife.” I smiled and pulled her close, placing a tender kiss on her forehead.

  The limo came to a stop, and I leaned to the door just as James opened it. As I stepped out, I straightened my dress shirt sleeves, glancing around the underground area before leaning down and extending my hand to Mila.

  James didn’t even seem to notice that she was wearing my suit jacket, but Mila’s discomfort was evident. The woman was wearing a jacket three sizes too big for her. Her clothing and underwear were torn, and I could only imagine the remnants of her orgasm still coating the insides of her thighs.

  “Mrs. Russo.” I held out my arm, and she eloquently linked her hand in the crook of my elbow. “I cannot wait to show you our new home.”

  4

  Mila

  A rollercoaster. That was what my life was like. The twists and turns kept coming from out of nowhere, and it was only a matter of time before one would stop trusting the peace of a smooth ride, expecting it to be over at any second. I was there in that place with Saint—where I kept expecting shit to happen that would derail any moment of solace with him.

  I was a fighter, yes. And Saint had made it clear on so many occasions that it was my fight, my strength he admired the most. But when he gave me that fake sense of control in the back seat of the limo, it felt wrong. Good…but wrong. That wasn’t how our dynamic worked. In a screwed-up relationship like ours, it wasn’t fucking normal. And there was that split second after my body exploded into fragments of pleasure that I realized no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that we could have normal together…we couldn’t. It wasn’t who we were. I needed to stop wa
nting normal. To stop thinking what we were together would be sunshine and fucking unicorns, because it wouldn’t. It would never be a smooth ride with Saint, and there would always be twists and turns. And while I straddled him on the back seat, my pleasure twisted into anger because he thought me a fool. Pretended to have given me control when, in fact, he hadn’t. Saint would never give up control. Ever. I had been on the receiving end of his dominance enough times to know that. So, I wanted him to see even though our journey together started with him demanding and forcefully taking control, that too had changed. Now, I chose to give it to him…not because I had to, but because I wanted to.

  Saint led me into the building, and if I wasn’t so distracted by the fact that I had to wear his jacket to cover my torn clothes, the apex of my thighs still wet with sin, I’d probably take note of my surroundings more. But everything was a blur around me until we stepped into the elevator with James. His tall frame and broad shoulders towered in front of us like a shield of protection.

  The elevator moved, and nostalgia set it. I leaned closer to Saint. “I don’t think taking an elevator will ever be as simple as it was before you.”

  He clutched my hand between his body and elbow. “Just as my life will never be as simple as it once was…before you.”

  I placed my head against his arm, craving the comfort of his warmth. “I’m exhausted.”

  “You had a rough ride on our way here.”

  I nudged into his side. “Not funny.”

  He snickered as the elevator door opened. James stood to the side, allowing Saint and me to exist first.

  My heels clicked on oak floors, and as always, Saint’s expensive taste left me in awe. Pure white walls complimented the high ceiling apartment with a seamlessly open layout. Several windows facing all four directions welcomed the night sky, the cool-white recessed lighting creating a calm atmosphere that settled on the modern furniture.

  “Wow.” I gazed around. “This is…different.”

  Saint paused. “You don’t like it?”

  “Oh, I do. I do like it. It’s good different.” I walked to the spiral staircase and placed my hands on the cold wrought iron. “It’s just so chic and modern. Compared to your estate in Italy, it’s a complete contradiction.”

  Saint shrugged and placed his hands in his pants pockets as he studied the open space. “I figured since you’re a New Yorker, modern chic rather than Italian Renaissance would be more your style.” His eyes found mine. “But if you don’t like it, I’ll find something more to your liking.”

  “No, I love it.”

  “We can have a new apartment by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Saint,” I approached him and placed a hand on his chest, “it’s perfect. Really.”

  He took my chin between his fingers and stared down at me. “All I want to do is give you the best of everything, yet I feel as if nothing I’m capable of doing will be good enough for you.”

  “I’m not one of the rich socialites you’ve dated in the past, Saint. I’ve lived in poverty long enough to know that I don’t need money to be happy. I just need you. Us.”

  He brushed his thumb across my bottom lip. “I have all the money in the world, yet my most priceless possession is the one thing I can’t buy.”

  “As long as you know it can’t be bought and only nurtured, that priceless possession of yours should have everything she needs.”

  I took his hand and placed a kiss in his palm, then turned to look around us. “But this apartment is pretty awesome.”

  “Wait until you see our private deck on the roof.”

  “Oh, wow. I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Come on. Let me show you.”

  “Saint, I’m kind of beat. And I really need to put on some clothes that aren’t torn.”

  A cocky grin appeared on his face. “You know the lesson you can learn from all this, right?”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Always wear clothing that’s easily accessible for me.”

  “God, you’re such a man.” I scoffed and turned on my heel when a sudden bout of nausea and dizziness slammed into me.

  My feet faltered, and Saint’s arms wrapped around my waist, keeping me upright. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I placed a palm on my forehead. “Just a little dizzy, that’s all.”

  “Come on.” Saint swept me from my feet and into his arms. I was too tired to object and merely placed my arms around his neck as he carried me down the hall. “I’ll arrange a doctor to make a house call first thing in the morning.”

  “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

  “Still. You’re pregnant. We need a doctor to keep an eye on you and the baby.”

  I closed my eyes, nestling my cheek against his shoulder. His earthy scent of sandalwood and musk comforted me. I loved how familiar it felt to be in his arms, as if there was nowhere else in the world I belonged other than with him.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “I love you too, Katarina.”

  “You don’t call me by my second name often.”

  “It’s a unique and beautiful name. Katarina.”

  I smiled. “I like it when you call me that. Your accent is super sexy.”

  “I’ll be sure to make a note of that for the next time you decide to deprive me of the pleasures of being your husband.”

  I snickered and tightened my hold around his neck. “I hope it’s a boy.”

  “You do?”

  “Hmm-hmm. I want him to grow up in Italy so he can have the same accent as his dad.”

  Saint stilled halfway down the hall. “You want to raise our child in Italy?”

  “I think so.” I sighed. “New York reminds me too much of my troubled childhood, and I don’t want my past near my baby.” I looked up at him. “Is that the real reason you decided to bring me back here? The reason you bought this apartment?”

  “I told you,” he started walking again, “I need to put as much distance as possible between you and my father.”

  “Then why do I suddenly get the feeling you did this because you thought it was what I wanted?”

  “I did it because I thought it was best.”

  “Why do you do that?”

  He eased the bedroom door open with his foot before entering. “Do what?”

  I pushed my weight down, forcing him to let me go, and steadied myself on my feet. “You let your guard down one minute, only to slam concrete walls in my face the next.”

  Saint roughed his hand through his midnight hair, his gaze drifting everywhere except at me. “I’m not used to this, Mila. I’m not used to feeling…things, let alone love someone. I’ll never be one of those men who spends hours talking about their feelings and how love changed them for the better.”

  “And I get that. I do.” I turned my back toward him and slipped the heels from my feet. “It would just be nice if you let your guard down long enough for me to take a peek inside.”

  “Mila—”

  “I have my question I want to ask today.”

  He cocked a brow. “We’re still doing that?”

  My gaze drifted across the huge master bedroom. The oak floors were decorated with a round, plush white carpet in front of the king-sized bed. The wooden paneling behind the bed created a balance with the stark white walls and satin sheets. Would I ever get used to the luxuries a life with Saint had to offer?

  I sat down on the bed while Saint remained still across the room. “What happened to her?”

  “Who?”

  “Your mother.”

  Instantly, his expression hardened, his eyes dark under the cool light of the room. It seemed like his frame grew taller, his broad shoulders menacing as he so easily built up his defenses in the time it took me to let out a breath.

  I swallowed, my words suddenly lost. For a moment, I backtracked and doubted my need to dig into his past so I could see where this hatred for his father stemmed from. But I had to know. I had to get a glimpse o
f the man behind the stone-cold façade he pulled off so damn well.

  I sat up straight and forced myself to keep his gaze. “How did she die?”

  Seconds ticked by as the air around us thickened, tension rolling off him in waves.

  His jaw ticked, and I noticed him clench his fists. “This is a conversation for another day.” He grabbed one of the suitcases that stood by the door and carried it across the room, placing it on the bed.

  “I think now is as good a time as any,” I pushed. I had to. Otherwise, he would never open up to me, and I’d never know the demons that lay below the surface.

  He stilled and stared at the shirt he had just taken out of the suitcase, a far-away look on his face.

  “Saint, we’re going to be parents. We need to work through all the bullshit of our past before we venture into the unknown future that’s waiting for us..”

  “It’s quite a mindfuck, isn’t it?” His smile lacked amusement, yet was cloaked with contempt. “Both of us have enough childhood trauma to make any therapist’s eye twitch—all because of our parents’ shit. And here we are,” he looked my way, “about to be parents ourselves.”

  “Yeah, well. It has crossed my mind, the irony of me becoming a parent when I had to grow up without one. At least your parents didn’t give you away.”

  “Believe me, I’d be much better off if they did.”

  “Tell me.” I reached for his hand, and he glanced down at where my fingers touched his skin. “Tell me what happened. Please.”

  “Why?” His voice was soft and low. “Why do you want to know about something that happened when I was eleven years old? Something neither you or I—or anyone else, for that matter—can change?”

  “Because no matter how much we hate to admit it, our past shaped us into who we are today. Our childhood trauma will always follow us, Saint. So, if we want to know each other—really know each other—we need to let each other in.”

  He turned to look at me, every line on his face hardened. “You mean I should let you in.” He leaned down, lowering himself so he could level me with his icy stare. “I already know you, Milana Katarina Torres. Your past. Your family. Your entire goddamn life. I know more about you than you do.” He inched closer, and I hated the hard look in his eyes, glaring at me like I was the enemy. “Do not pretend like this is about us getting to know each other when we both know all you’re trying to do is get inside my head.”