Something in his tone makes my stomach drop. But I get out of bed and pull-on jeans, a sweater. My hands are shaking.
Is this it? Is Saint going to kill me?
The idea makes my stomach lurch.
I'd been so sure that he wouldn't kill me, but now, I feel as though I'd miscalculated. Saint, like my brother, made it clear that the family came before anything. The only difference between the two is that nothing comes before Sera for Adrian.
I hated that at first.
Now, I wish I knew what that type of loyalty felt like.
"Saint, what's going on?" I swallow back the shakiness.
"Downstairs. Five minutes."
I stand in the room, shaking my head. "No."
The shadows of the room play on his face. "No?" His cheekbones are sharp, his green eyes marred with shadows. I can see some of his tattoos peeking out of his shirt. He looks every inch the dangerous Mafia Don.
But if he's going to kill me, I'm going to die on my feet.
"I'm not going until you tell me where we are going."
He takes a step towards me. Even though I'm trembling, I don't back down. "I'll drag you by your fucking hair if I have to," he snarls.
"I'm sure," I say, trying to be calm, even. "But if you are going to kill me, I'd like to know." I really don't want to know. How does one even prepare for death, especially at the hand of the man you’ve fallen in love with?
Saint reacts like I've slapped him. It's the first real emotion I've seen.
His shoulders drop slightly, and he runs a hand through his hair. "I'm not going to kill you Gemma, but please, for the love of God, just do what I'm asking. For once."
He leaves before I can ask anything else.
I stand there, heart pounding, trying to decide what to do next.
Something's wrong.
I consider locking the door, hiding, or trying to escape. I glance out my window.
Would the fall kill me? Would that be better?
I shake away the idea.
Saint said he wasn't going to kill me.
I don't trust him, but I trust that. He’s never lied to me. At least, as far as I know.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and go downstairs. Whatever is going on, I can't hide from it.
He's waiting by the door. He won't meet my eyes.
"Saint—"
"Car. Now."
Emmanuel is waiting.
Saint gets in beside me, and he’s still not looking at me.
