Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

11 | Nina

"I'm saying that you're lying to both me and yourself," I say boldly, angry that he's laughing at me. "If you really were who you appear to be, you would've killed me that day. In the basement."

He's still shaking his head in amusement, teeth flashing white in the shadows of the alleyway as he toggles with the rings on his fingers.

Frustration, humiliation—all the emotions of the weak girl I've become so familiar with, having been her my whole life—bubble up in the ugliest, hottest ball of indignation somewhere deep, deep inside of me. And I'm forced into action by some part of me that operates on its own free will, without the permission of my brain or anything sane.

I lunge, reaching towards the slight bulge at Santo's waistline, knowing he keeps a knife concealed safely there. I've seen him strap it there before we leave the house, seen him subconsciously reach for it at various times we've passed people he deems a potential threat.

First, I feel skin. Searing hot, silky-smooth skin. I haven't calculated exactly what this course of action entails and now I'm faced with it—my hand, halfway down Santo's shorts, my fingers brushing up against the velveteen skin of his abdomen.

Santo's hand is on my wrist, having flown there with insanely fast reflexes, but he doesn't rip my touch away. No, he lets it stay, for a brief yet eternal moment where I stare up into the black of his irises and the soft pop of his lips, pink against his golden skin.

I can feel the ridge of his hipbone, the soft hair that decorates his taut abdomen and disappears into his shorts, where... where my hand is currently resting. His breath shudders, and I flush hot.

Oh, God.

I grab the knife and rip my hand away. For once caught off guard, Santo doesn't lift a finger to stop me as I take his knife and bring it up to my neck.

"There," I tremble, my voice nearly a whisper, shaken back and forth by the tempest raging all over his features. "There, I even did most of the work for you. Now what are you waiting for?"

He's so still that it doesn't even look like he's breathing. His eyes are focused on where the cool metal of the blade rests against my skin, so close to cutting into the flesh. Right next to the scar that I know is freshly present from the last time the two of us encountered a knife.

And I swear, I swear he's going to do it. Finally just kill me.

There's an emotion blazing in the depths of his gaze—excitement, at the sight of the knife so close to drawing blood. Or... or something else. Something I can't make sense of. But he's a sinner who's come face to face with his greatest temptation and there's no way he can resist.

Suddenly, he moves.

Gripping my wrist and yanking it away from my neck, simultaneously drawing me closer to him. I tremble against his large chest as he rips the knife from my hand, throwing it away so roughly that it bounces off the wall and skitters to the furthest corner of the alleyway.

"Don't you ever," he says, the tip of his nose nearly brushing mine as he leans down, "ever do that again."

+

We don't say a word to each other on the way back.

Not one.

My body feels weightless, my legs light as feathers, and I think I run faster than I ever have the whole way to the mansion. I don't stop moving until I'm safe in my bedroom, sinking onto the bed in a heap of tired limbs. The exhaustion creeps suddenly in. So does the trembling.

My dull shock has subsided, leaving the sharp edges of panic to scratch me raw.

Panic at all the unknowns, my safety being the most pressing one. But, more horrifyingly, at the way parts of Santo seem to be seeping through cracks in the walls I've set up for myself.