R E Y N A

"Let's not forget that you're weak and pathetic. It's no wonder why your mother left you. I would've left you too. Imagine having someone like you as a daughter," he growled.

I couldn't stop my hand from cocking back and slapping him right in the face. The grip he had on my neck quickly faltered. The bits of the stinging sensation that erupted in my hand was nothing compared to the satisfaction of my heart.

I glared at him. "You have no right. Last time I checked, it was you who brought me here. It was you who asked me to help you. I've been fine without your assistance on finding my mother, and I'll be fine once again. You want to talk about Omertà, huh? Well, I already know everything about you Santino. Don't you think it's a bit too late for that? If I were going to tell someone about you, I would've done it a long time ago."

I expected him to hit me, or worse, shoot me. He was a brutal man who I just slapped. The consequences of my actions didn't bother to announce its presence when I reacted. So, when he began to clap, I didn't know how to react.

"You're like a rose. You can fool everyone—possibly even yourself—that you are nothing but a sweet thing full of innocence, but no one sees the thorns, Angel. No one but me," he stated. His words echoed with promise. I didn't know if I should be scared or curious.

He reached over to me, but I was too quick to flinch away from him. My reaction to his touch seemed to coax his jaw into clenching. However, it didn't deter his hand from palming my cheek.

After a few moments, Saint let his hand slide down my cheek and over to my neck. At first, he was allowing the pad of his finger to scrape across my skin. It wasn't until he gripped me in his tight hold that I realized the small amount of generosity he was bestowing upon me, was short lived.

"Don't you ever even think about hitting me again, do you understand me?" He growled. I hurriedly nodded my head in a frenzy, but it wasn't enough to suffice the ego of the devil.

Never hitting him again was already written in stone for me. He was a psychopathic man, who was probably just as crazy as he looked beautiful. The last thing I wanted was to be a huge target for him.

"Y-Yes," I whimpered.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

Saint let go of my neck. Oxygen embraced my lungs madly as if they were friends who hadn't seen each other in so long. Even my hand shot up to my neck as it longed to rub the source of my pain.

"I was going to take you somewhere, but I have to work. So, you will be accompanied here by Giovanni," Saint announced. I couldn't bring myself to respond. My throat was too busy throbbing.

"Go back to your room until he gets here," he declared.

I didn't hesitate to speed-walk out of his bar. It was too destructive to be so close to him. I had never hit someone in my life. Knowing Saint for a couple of days, it had become the first time I ever did something like that to someone. He was easily rubbing off on me and I couldn't figure out how to get it to stop. It was poisonous—toxic even.

On the way to my room, I saw Rosalina. She was sweeping the floor in the kitchen with tranquility falling around her like raindrops. When she saw me, her eyes lit up. Rosalina leaned the broom against the refrigerator and walked over to me.

"Are you okay?" She asked, searching my body for any marks or scars.

A frown persuaded my features as I could recall the time I had asked her how long she worked for Saint. When she told me that she had worked for Saint's family ten years before he was born, my lips parted in shock. There was a huge possibility that she knew about Saint more than anyone. I wondered if she was aware he killed his family, and if she was aware, why did she bother to stay?

"Yeah, I'm fine," I rasped out. I noticed the way her eyes seemed to beam at my neck. Her sights were locked and when she tried to look back into my eyes, it seemed as though it hurt her.

Pity danced around her gaze. Little did she know, I didn't want pity. I've always hated pity. Pity was just another thing on my long list of things I tend to avoid. I couldn't afford anymore of it. I was afraid that once more pity began to crowd the faces of everyone I knew, the harder it would be to not feel sorry for myself. I didn't have time for that—I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself.

She glanced around me as if she were looking for something—or someone. When she saw the coast was clear, she leaned in towards me. "You know that he needs you. He needs you a lot more than you need him. Use that when he tries anything you aren't comfortable with."

"I know, and I used that to my advantage today," I told her. "Was Saint always this way?"

She let out a sigh.

"No," Rosalina chuckled, "he was such a great boy. You know, his mother gave him the nickname, Saint, when he was younger. It wasn't a lie. He was a Saint. He cared for everyone and he loved so fast and so hard."

"What happened to him?" I questioned.

There had to be some reason why he did what he did to his family. He was a monster, and it was hard to believe he was anything saintly. A Saint wouldn't bring harm to their family. Not even the average sane person would do something so damaging.

"I can't say much, but he's not as bad as he makes himself out to be. You will see," she whispered. I parted my lips, ready to ask her another question, but stopped when I noticed her prolonged view in the space behind me.

I quickly turned around to see Saint leaning against the kitchen wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Rosalina went back over to her broom and continued sweeping as if our conversation hadn't happened.

"No, please, don't let me interrupt," he laughed mockingly. I decided to follow Rosalina's lead by leaving to do what I was told to do, but it didn't work out for me. Saint quickly latched onto my wrist, stopping me from walking to my room.

"You want to hear about how I'm a good boy? All you had to do was ask me," he said. I tried to search his eyes for anything, but I couldn't detect a thing. He was stone cold—inside and out.

"N-No, it's okay," I let out. Rage was shedding off of Saint in waves, and I knew it was gift for me. He was ready to lash, and my name was written boldly on the wrapping paper. One more word from my lips was enough to unwrap the gift of anger and release.

Just before Saint could say anything else, Giovanni strolled into the kitchen. He eyed Saint's hand on my wrist suspiciously, but he didn't bother to say a word.

"Adriano is waiting for you, Saint," Giovanni stated. I glanced over at Saint to see he was looking at me. It wasn't until he dropped my wrist and looked off to Giovanni, that I was grateful for the interruption.

"She doesn't do training without me, corretto?" Saint established. Giovanni nodded his head, leaving me to watch as Saint left the kitchen without another world.

I was lucky to get out of that situation as peacefully as I did. Letting out a breath, I shot Rosalina an apologetic smile to which she returned.

"What happened?" Giovanni asked. I turned to him with a frown. There were no words that I could muster up to say to him. The answer to his question should've been so obvious for him to see. He was already staring at my neck just like Rosalina had done.

I placed my hand against the heated skin of my neck. My action seemed to break Giovanni's intense stare. He plastered a fake smile on his face as he searched my eyes.

"Nothing happened," I muttered.

"Okay. Well, I have to take you to your house so you can grab everything you'll need," Giovanni said, completely acting as if he hadn't been staring at the evidence of Saint's cruelty. I noticed that around here. What was seen was never spoken of. It was something Saint was trying to instill in me, but it was a puzzle that just wouldn't fit in my personality. I could never look at a bruise on a girl's neck and turn the other cheek—even if it were to cost me my life.

"When will I be able to go home on my own?" I questioned. He appeared to think about my question for a moment. His eyes moved up to the ceiling with a look flickering in his eyes to prove he was deep in his thoughts.

"Saint will probably allow you to go back home once he can trust you," he answered. I wanted to argue that I should be allowed to go home whenever I desired, but I refrained. If it was Saint's trust I had to gain, then I was going to make sure I do it. Having his trust meant I could have my freedom. That beat staying locked in my room and forced to do things I didn't want to do.

"Let's go," I murmured unenthusiastically, walking past him to the front door.

I could feel Giovanni following closely behind. He was probably assuming that I would do something as foolish as to run, but he was wrong. Running wouldn't get me any closer to the trust I needed to gain from Saint. It also wouldn't make much sense because they knew my identity. Every bit of me was already locked away in their records, ready to be pulled out at any sign of my disobedience.

My identity was my weakness to every person I ever hacked. It was only then that I realized how easily Saint found me. It was only a matter of time before the other crime families realize who I am and what I have against them. My safety now relies on Saint. I only hoped that he wouldn't begin to figure out that now I may need him more than he needs me. If he did, I was sure he would use it against me.