Font Size:
12
Saint
Idon’t let him off the wall.
Not yet.
My forearm presses against Marco Rossi’s throat.
His feet barely touch the floor.
“You don’t get to walk in here and rewrite reality,” I growl.
“Two men came into my house.”
My voice drops.
“One of them died.”
Marco doesn’t struggle.
Doesn’t panic.
His breathing stays steady.
“I know,” he says quietly.
“And I’m glad one of them didn’t walk out.”
That stops me.
“What?”
He holds my gaze.
Completely serious.
“Say that again.”
“My mother hired them,” he says evenly.
“I’ve been trying to stop her for months.”
I stare into his eyes.
Looking for the tell.
The hesitation.
The lie.
But there’s nothing there except something colder.
Fury.
Controlled.
Focused.
