Chapter 28
Saint
We were barely through the front door before I lost it. “Go to bed, Aria. Don’t say a word to me,” I snapped, tossing my keys onto the marble table so hard they bounced.
She stopped halfway down the hall and turned, arms crossed like she hadn’t just walked into a fucking war meeting pregnant and smug like she ran the world. “Don’t start with me tonight, Saint.”
I laughed—short and ugly. “You came to the restaurant after I told you not to be there. Then you tried to sow discord into another person’s marriage. It wasn’t your right to tell Ava what you did. What the fuck is it going to take, Aria, for you to listen to me? You want to get shot? Have our children grow up hearing stories about the mother they never met?”
She didn’t say anything. Just stared at me like I was overreacting. Like I was the crazy one.
I took a step toward her. “I’m about two seconds from pulling a Don Benedetti and locking you the fuck away in a castle in Italy until this baby’s born,” I growled. “Treat you like the old-school men did.”
Her eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” I said, voice cold. “Because clearly nothing else gets through to you.”
She opened her mouth, and I braced for one of her verbal grenades—but nothing came. Instead— Her eyes filled with tears.
I froze. “What the hell are you crying for? I'm—” I started to apologize, but stopped. This was her being manipulative. It had to be. Aria didn’t cry.
She shook her head. “You let him talk to me like that,” she said, her voice cracking. “Luciano. Every chance he gets, he cuts into me. And you just sit there like I’m not your wife. Like I don’t deserve to be defended.”
The lump that rose in my throat tasted like guilt and bourbon.
“You give as good as you get,” I muttered, arms crossed, trying to hold my ground. “You don’t need anyone to fight for you.”
“That’s not the point,” she said, tears spilling now, her voice rising. “I know how to handle myself. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you in my corner.”
She wiped her face, her hands shaking. “I’m sorry about what happened to your father, Saint. Even if I’m not sorry he’s gone. I wish things were different. I wish we met another way. I wish there wasn’t always this fucking wall between us, like I’m the enemy and you’re just waiting for me to betray you again.”
I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, staring at the woman I’d die for— who had just made me feel like I was failing her. “I’m getting fed up.” She warned. She sniffed and dropped her gaze, then looked up at me again—wide-eyed, exhausted. “I never wanted to be your enemy, Saint,” she whispered. “I’ve been trying to make up for what I did by being your wife, giving you the family you want, loving you regardless, as you play victim and act as if you didn’t have anything to do with what happened. I can’t do that anymore.”
Holding her belly, she turned and stormed down the hallway. I heard the bedroom door slam.
And for the first time in years, I didn’t have a single goddamn thing to say. I dragged a hand down my face, bone-tired.