“She likes you.”
Saint looked down at Emmy.
Something in his expression softened.
“I never want to put her down,” he said quietly.
“I love her.”
The words hit me harder than I expected.
Tears burned behind my eyes.
“I’m scared,” I admitted. “I keep thinking any minute someone is going to walk through that door.”
Saint’s entire posture changed.
The softness vanished.
His shoulders squared.
His eyes sharpened.
The soldier was back.
“No one is getting near you,” he said.
“Or her.”
“What if you’re wrong?” I whispered.
He didn’t hesitate.
“I’m not.”
Not about this.
And for the first time in months…
I almost believed him.
Marco
The first man tells me because he is afraid.
The second tells me because I almost break his hand.
Either way, I get the truth.
My mother has hired outside contractors.
Not investigators.
Not security.
Killers.
I stand very still in my office in Milan, phone pressed to my ear, and feel something cold settle behind my ribs.
