Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
S AINT
Sitting on the bed, I’m waiting for Emerald to brush her hair before going down to breakfast. I could go down without her, but some part of me likes doing these small things together.
I watch her as she gets ready. She thinks that I don’t know what she’s been up to with my money. But each evening, I get a full report from the bodyguards about her day. This is so that I can check for anything suspicious that might be some sort of threat from Carmine. But I’ve been finding out some very interesting things about Ms. Emerald Fiorelli. Such as what happened to the money she claims to have spent on the engagement ring and lost to my men in poker. Because that money has ended up in the pockets of a charity.
I can easily afford the money, and the charity in question is a very deserving cause, so I’m not worried about that in the slightest. But what is so interesting is that despite her reputation as a gold digger, whenever she has the opportunity to buy something expensive for herself or keep a large sum of my money, she instead donates it to charity. And her actions show that she’s as far from being a gold digger as a woman could be.
But honestly, that realization doesn’t really surprise me…
I’m flicking through my phone as she walks into the closet to grab a sweater. And I remember the screenshot I took a while ago and have been meaning to ask her about. I bring up the photo I have of Emerald’s closet in her old place. “You literally stole all of these?” I ask her as she walks back out, nodding down at the photo on my phone.
She looks over at the screen, her eyes widening. “How did you get a picture of my closet? Are you a stalker or something?”
I shrug. “No, but I wouldn’t mind being a stalker. I reckon it could be quite fun.”
Her green eyes glitter at me in a glare.
“Look, I haven’t snooped through your things—yet.”
“So, how did you get that photo?”
“It was in the background check file the Imperiosi put together on you when you first started dating Ronnie.”
“ The background check file ? That sounds like spying. And that’s totally messed up.” She crosses her arms. “Why are you rifling through my life in the first place?”
“Answer the question, Emerald,” I say, tapping my finger on the screen.
Her lips remain resolutely shut as I get up and step toward the closet. She slams the door shut before I reach it and leans against it as if to further drive the point home that she doesn’t want me in it. “I didn’t give you permission to go in there.”
“You got to stop with the stealing. I’m being serious. And I’m just trying to understand you. Can’t you do something else if you really need the money?”
She flicks her hair over her shoulder. “This is better. It’s tax free .”
“Stop being so flippant, Emerald.”
“So what if I stole them? Anyway, it distinctly feels like you’re judging me, and I already have enough people doing that.”
“I promise I’m not judging you. I’m just asking the question because I want to understand you better.” I can’t help myself as I reach out and stroke her cheek with my thumb. “Why do you do it?”
She stares at me for a long moment before her shoulders drop a little. She pulls away from my grasp, taking a few steps over to the bed and sitting down. I follow and sit next to her, waiting for her to speak.
“There’s lots of reasons. The easy reason is that if I wear nice clothes, then on the outside, I might look like I fit in.”
“You fit in anyway,” I counter with a frown. “Plenty of people like you—Christian, Jacquetta, and lots of others.”
“And then...there’s the idea that the dresses give me a nest egg.”
“Nest egg?”
“If things go wrong, I can sell a few of them to raise cash. I’ve done it before—when we haven’t had enough money to make rent and stuff.”
I’m quiet while I think about all this. “I noticed some different dresses in the closet yesterday—new dresses that still have the tags on. You’re still stealing, right?”
She doesn’t answer me, but I already know the answer.
“You won't ever be poor. You’ve got lots of skills, and you even know how to hustle people with a game of chess.”
“But it's like my mom being a hooker,” she wails. “Just like looks fade, chess skills fade.”
“ Skills are different. You just need to practice them. You’re a smart girl, Em. One of the smartest I’ve ever met. You don’t need to keep stealing.”
“It’s not like I haven’t tried to stop. I’ve become so used to it and the high it gives that it’s become a habit. I guess the thieving apple doesn’t fall far from my father’s tree.” Her tone is light as she grins, but I can tell that it all affects her on a deeper level. She uses these comments and her smile as a defense mechanism, to try and stop people seeing the real woman…the vulnerable woman. She wants to protect herself against the world, against all the accusations that have been thrown at her—whore, thief, gold digger—and this is the only way she knows how to.
Neither of us says anything for a few moments. “Why not try going to a Shoplifters Anonymous meeting or something?” I suggest.
“How will a meeting help me? I’m too far gone…”
“For starters, it’ll show you that you’re not alone. But it’s more than that. It’s a recovery program. I think it could help.”
“I don’t think anything can help me,” she murmurs.
“I’ll even go with you if that’ll help,” I offer. Sitting in a meeting with other kleptomaniacs isn’t exactly my idea of fun , but something inside me makes me want to help her. “We can go as soon as I find a local meeting. Just give it a try. If you don’t like it after the first meeting, we don’t have to go again. Deal?”
She stares at me for a long moment, so long that I think she won’t actually answer me. But then she releases a soft sigh before she slowly nods.
Going downstairs, Em heads to the laundry room to get something for Giulietta, while I go to the kitchen to get the coffee started.
Jaspar’s already there, eyeing up my box of Lucky Charms. “I love Lucky Charms,” he tells me.
I nod. “Me too.”
“We didn’t always have the money to afford them. Em said we had to prioritize our spending. It really sucked. When I’m older, I’m gonna be a made man.” He grabs a bowl and spoon as I put the box of cereal down next to him. “And then I’ll be rich enough to buy Lucky Charms whenever I want them.”
Fuck . That makes me feel even worse about the first time we’d met when I snatched back the cereal he’d stolen from right under my nose. It’s been damn tough for her, being only eighteen and financially responsible for her three siblings and trying to be a mom to them.
And I decide that from this moment on, whenever I go grocery shopping, I’ll let Jaspar come with me. And I’ll always let him buy the biggest box of Lucky Charms the store has.
* * *
I’m waiting to drive Emerald to the meeting, but she insisted that she go upstairs and change her clothes. It hardly matters what she wears to the goddamn meeting, and I know it’s just a delaying tactic on her part. I wait for her in the living room, pacing the floor as I observe the few family photos she’s put up over the fireplace.
I’ve always thought how photos can tell so many stories about people. Emerald’s family appeared happy once upon a time. The kids were all smiling, Emerald’s mom looked happy, and their dad looked just like all other mafia fathers. It kind of reminds me of how my parents look in the very few photos we had together before they were taken from me so abruptly.
And it only proves how photos can be both a beautiful memory and a painful reminder at the same time...
“Okay, I’m ready,” Emerald says as she suddenly appears in the living room. Her eyes trace over my face as she frowns slightly. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, why?” I clip.
“You just had this strange look on your face. I thought something was wrong.”
I shake my head and move toward the door. Now isn’t the time to dive into my past. The kids are at Jacquetta’s place for the next couple of hours, so I lock up behind us. Even with my men keeping watch over my mansion, my head swivels in all directions as soon as we step out, my senses immediately jumping into high alert. My gaze zeroes in on everything. The windows of the surrounding houses, the faces of anyone driving by, and even the couple of children running up and down the opposite front yard.
She moves past me and heads for the car. “Are you coming or are you going to keep stalking our neighbors?”
I’m glad that she feels safe here, but I’m still not lowering my guard. I stride forward. “Still sticking with the stalker trope, huh?”
She flicks her hair over her shoulder and flashes me a grin. “You make it too easy, Valentino.”
I try to loosen the tension in my shoulders. A tension that’s been there constantly since I found out Carmine put a hit out on Emerald. As long as she’s living with me and I can keep tabs on her, I tell myself that she’ll be fine until we can get this situation under control.
Traffic is unusually light as we make our way across town. Emerald is being a lot more quiet than usual. I can only imagine what’s going through her mind as we get closer to our destination. Her hands are tight in her lap as she wordlessly watches the passing streets through the window. Worry rolls off her in waves, so much so that it almost makes the air inside the car feel suffocating.
“You okay?” I ask, glancing over at her.
“It’s just that I don’t want to feel judged,” she admits after a few moments.
“Everyone there is either the same as you or they’ve been in your shoes. You’ll be fine,” I tell her. “Plus, I’ll be there with you.”
By the time we get there, I’ve noticed that Emerald’s been getting more and more nervous. Her leg has bounced the entire drive to this meeting. It’s driving me crazy, but I keep my mouth shut, knowing this isn’t really high on the list of essential topics right now. Because the most essential thing is actually getting her here and getting her to take this first step.
I don’t know why, but the fact that she’s nervous or anxious at all makes my chest constrict uncomfortably. I rub at it, trying to displace the feeling.
Pulling up, the building is not instilling any confidence in me, but it’s the only group I could find nearby. Two others I tried told me that they had to close down due to their funding being cut. I peer at it from my windshield. The youth center sits in some big square building that’s covered in graffiti on one side and has two broken windows boarded up.
A rough, unamused laugh huffs from her. “This is it?”
“Yep.”
“There’s not much hope for the meeting with a building like this...”
I look over at her.
“Oh, come on, Valentino! Tell me I’m wrong. Look at the place. The sign is falling off, the windows are boarded up, the plaster is literally crumbling on the side. What else am I supposed to think?”
“Don’t judge the group by its building? Could be nice inside.”
“Right, because they have the money to waste on some plush beanbags and tasty cupcakes instead of essential building maintenance?”
“ Emerald .”
“ Valentino .”
The way she mimics me like this makes my body tense and tighten. I shouldn’t react the way I do, but she never fails to affect me. I turn to her. “You’re going inside.” I know she’s just grasping at these excuses as an avoidance tactic.
“Fine. But I’m not expecting much.”
“As long as you go.”
She keeps snapping the clasp of her purse open and shut. I’ve noticed she does that a lot, especially when she’s stressed, just like she keeps fiddling with her bracelet clasp and washing her hands over and over again. But I don’t comment or judge because I get they are a part of her coping mechanisms.
She doesn’t move from her seat. There’s still a good five minutes before it starts, but she hasn’t even unbuckled her seatbelt. Her lip is caught between her teeth, and I fight the urge to caress it with my thumb. My hand curls into a fist as I shake those thoughts away. We’re in a fake relationship. And that means I shouldn’t be thinking about her goddamn plush lips.
“This was the only option, Saint?”
Her question brings me back to the car and the way her scent of chocolate mints fills my nostrils. Her assault on my senses does nothing to stop the image of her lips parted, glistening from where she’s licked them, taking place at the forefront of my mind. That particular image has haunted me far more than I’d care to admit.
“Saint?”
I blink, shaking my thoughts away. “It’s the only option. Unless you want to carry on in the same merry way and get caught and charged, yeah.”
She nods, her eyes glued to the building. She puts up a good front—just like she does with everything in her life. She’s always smiling, but it’s her way of having her guard up. She struggles to let people in to help her, like accepting help is admitting that she’s weak. But I know her better. It’s the way those green eyes dart around the place and the bounce of her damn luscious leg. She’s really anxious.
“I can go in with you.”
Her nose wrinkles as she turns toward me. “What? God, no. I’m not a child. I can go into a meeting by myself just fine.”
I arch a brow. “Can you? You haven’t even unbuckled.”
“Obviously, I can,” she says, unclicking the seatbelt.
My mouth twitches. “Good. Now, get out of the car.”
Her lips flatten at me, but she opens the car door. Then she hesitates and closes the door again.
“Emerald?”
She looks at the building, then at me. That damn lip is caught back between her teeth. “Will you come in with me, Saint?” she says quietly.
It takes every ounce of control I have not to smile because she’s actually asking for my help. Instead, I give her a simple nod, keeping my face a blank slate despite the feeling that zips through my body. Because I like that she’s asking me for something. And I like that I can be the one to help her.
Unbuckling myself, I step from the driver’s seat to round the car and stand beside her. “When you’re ready.” I let the words hang between us, ensuring she realizes she’s the one in control. “One meeting, and if it doesn’t help, we move on and try something else.”
A loud exhale leaves her, and she takes a step toward the building. And silently, I follow.
She looks up at the worn sign. I come to a stop next to her. She stares at the sign before slowly shaking her head. “I don’t think I can do this.”
I wonder if I’m ever going to get her inside, but I give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Remember, I’ll be right there with you,” I remind her. She looks up at me, worry and anxiety swimming in her gaze. I give her a small nod, making sure she understands that she’ll be fine.
She stares at me. “You’ll have to confess to stealing too.”
“ Wait !” My eyes widen. “ What ? Me ?”
“Yeah,” she smirks. “You have to be a thief to attend these things. But that’s easy enough—you can just say you steal people’s money. Because that is kind of true, what with the way the Imperiosi make their money through illegal exploits. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if you’re not entirely truthful —I already know that you’re a beautiful liar, so you don’t have to worry about me thinking any less of you.” She grins widely at me, but I can only manage a low growl in response.
Her hand pauses on the handle of the door as she looks at me again, and her lips purse before she pulls it open.
I follow closely behind, glancing around us to make sure nothing is out of the ordinary before stepping inside the building.
We make our way down a dimly lit hallway until it opens up to what looks like a community center room. It’s not exactly what I expected, but it’s clean enough. A colorful mural decorates the back wall, and there’s some various-sized tables scattered throughout. In the center, a circle of chairs is arranged around a rug, most of them already occupied with silent bodies. Emerald hesitates a bit, until a woman with a clipboard stands as she waves us over. “Welcome! Please, come join us,” she says, gesturing to two empty seats.
Together, we move toward them, and I cast a glance at the other people already sitting there. A boy in a hood, slouched deep into the foldable chair, a girl with colorful streaks of blue in her otherwise blond hair, an older woman who looks like she’s come here straight from work, and various other people. There’s around twenty people in total. Who knew that so many people could have this sort of problem ? None of them seem particularly thrilled to be here. At least Emerald is in good company.
“I’m not dressed right for this,” she blurts out as she spins on her heel.
I block her way. “No shit. Couldn’t you have worn something a little less conspicuous?” She’s in yet another one of her sparkly gold dresses, advertising to the world exactly what it is that she steals.
She glowers at me, but slowly, she turns back around.
I wait until she sits, and then I take my seat as well. The woman with the clipboard in her lap looks again at Emerald and me. “You must be Emerald?”
Emerald gives the tiniest nod.
“We’re glad to have you. I’ll be leading the session today. We’re just waiting for one more person. Can I get you anything? Water? A snack?” The woman looks tired, but her welcome doesn’t seem disingenuous. I shake my head at the same time Emerald does.
My eyes flick to the clock on the wall before settling back on Emerald. Her body is stiff even as she relaxes into the chair.
When the last person rushes in right on time, we finally make a start. “I’d like to welcome everyone to today’s meeting. I’m Amanda,” she says, putting a hand on her chest. “Let’s start with going around the circle and introducing ourselves and telling us a little about you. I’ll go first.” She puts her clipboard on the chair behind her and stands. “As I said, I’m Amanda. I’ve been, I guess you can say, ‘clean’ from shoplifting for seven years now, and it’s all thanks to these meetings and therapy.” She passes a look over the group. “I know a lot of you here may wonder how a group can help you, and you may be a bit skeptical about all of this. I was in your shoes once upon a time, and I’m here to tell you it’s possible to free yourself from your compulsion if you’re willing to do the work. Being here is the first step.”
I glance over at Emerald just in time to see a flicker of relief on her face. With a life as destructive as mine tends to be, it’s nice to actually help someone for once. Doing this for Emerald almost feels as if it counters just a little of the bad I’ve done. I know it’ll take a lot more than accompanying her to these meetings to undo all the lies I’ve told her since meeting her—yeah, because I’m starting to realize that maybe I could have been a tiny bit more truthful about certain things—but it’s something.
The guy sitting next to Amanda stands and lifts his hand in a small wave. “I’m Reuben,” he starts. “I, uh, I’ve had a problem with stealing since I was a teenager. It’s to the point that it’s taking over my whole life.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I can’t keep a job, my wife is divorcing me, and my kids won’t talk to me while I’m like this. So, this is me taking steps in getting help. That’s why I’m here.”
Low applause fills the space as he sits, and Amanda smiles at him. “We’re glad you’re here, Reuben. You should be proud of yourself for making the effort to come today.”
Next is blue streaks Katarina, followed by Trudie, and then Julian. Each of them with their own reasons for shoplifting. Some because it’s fun and some because it’s the easiest way to get what they need. Through each story, I watch her. How she reacts with her expressions.
Each person takes turns to introduce themselves, and I notice Emerald shifting and twitching as the circle works its way closer to her. Because of where I’m sitting, I’ll have to speak before Emerald.
I can feel her eyes on me when it’s my turn to stand. I clasp my hands together in front of me as I clear my voice. “I’m Saint,” I start. “And I think I may have come to the wrong meeting. I thought this was for sex addicts.”
Amanda blinks at me with wide eyes. “Oh my,” she says with a hand on her chest. “I’m sorry, but?—”
“Oh my God,” Emerald hisses, grabbing my hand and pulling me down before she stands to her feet. “There’s nothing wrong with him other than being a jackass. He’s with me.” She runs a slightly shaking hand through her shiny locks. “I’m Emerald. My stealing habit started after my dad died a few years ago. I don’t want to ruin whatever future I could have, so...I’m here to hopefully work on learning how to stop.” Her voice is soft, unsure, but she talks about why she does it. About the high and sense of control that it makes her feel in her chaotic life. About how the thought of stopping scares her. About how the prospect of not being able to afford a home for the kids terrifies her. They’re admissions that nearly knock me from my chair because of the very fact that she’s opening up. But I remain a sturdy pillar for her to lean against if need be, my hand squeezing hers gently.
As she talks, Amanda’s eyes briefly flick to where Emerald keeps clicking the clasp of her purse open and shut.
When she’s finished, she finally gives a small smile. The others match her smile, and for the first time since we entered the building, that guard she’s had up slips. She’s among people who get it. Who understand to some extent.
“What’s the most expensive thing you’ve taken?” the blond girl asks, eyeing up her gold dress.
“I stole this Dior dress recently, although I’m usually too ashamed to even consider wearing it.” Emerald gestures down at her dress as she tucks a strand of inky hair behind her ear.
“Bose headphones for me,” the hoodie teen offers.
“Prada bag,” the older woman says. “It’s what got me caught.”
Emerald elbows me when she takes her seat, shooting me a glare over my previous sex addict line, even though amusement twinkles in her eyes.
I chuckle to myself. At least she looks more relaxed.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Amanda says. Then she gestures at Saint. “Do you want to share your story?”
“Um, I might pass today, if that’s okay.”
Amanda smiles. “Sure. No pressure. Maybe next time.”
The group shares a smile before Amanda asks the next person to tell their story. The meeting goes on, and my focus goes in and out as they all talk about different coping strategies as well as doing exercises to help them pinpoint what triggers them to steal. Emerald is fully engaged in it, coming out of her shell a little more as the minutes go by.
The meeting flies by, and when we get to the end, Emerald shocks the hell out of me by signing up for next week's meeting.
Amanda approaches her. “I always give these to newcomers.” She hands over a bunch of pamphlets and drops her voice to a whisper. “I personally found the top one very useful.”
Glancing down, I see the top pamphlet is about OCD, and I find myself hoping that Emerald has a read of it later. I look around the room as everyone heads to a refreshment table on the opposite side. “Ready to head out?”
She almost looks disappointed, but she nods. We walk toward the exit, and I hold the door open for her.
“So?” I prompt her.
A smile tugs her lips up. “It was...okay.”
I follow behind her, a hand pressed to the small of her back, feeling the warmth of her seep into me as I guide her to my car.
She lingers against the door. “Thank you, Saint.”
I look down at her and something warm skitters through my chest again. “I’m just glad it helped a little, Emerald.”
She looks at me, a thoughtful expression in her eyes. “Why do you care so much?” she asks suddenly.
My confusion must show on my face.
“I mean,” she explains, “most men would run a mile from a woman who’s responsible for three young kids and who’s got a stealing problem. So, why?”
Is it so that I can watch over her and keep her safe? I don’t know how to explain it beyond that. So, I simply shrug. “We’re friends, right?”
“I guess,” she says slowly.
It’s hard to keep the slight smile from my face as I look at her. What is it about this woman that just hits me right where I feel so exposed and open? Like she’s seeing some side of me that really doesn’t exist. I’m not a man who usually helps anyone, so why do I want to help this woman…and why do I want so goddamn much to protect her?
“It was...kind of nice to talk to people who get it.”
“Good,” I say, unable to stop my hand from brushing the falling strand of inky hair from her face to behind her ear.
The hitch in her breath and the electricity that flows through my body make my chest ache. My pulse drowns out the noise of the city all around us. And my hand remains against her cheek.
All I see is her.
She’s beautiful. No, she’s fucking breathtaking . Stealing the air from my lungs without even doing anything.
The way her hair is lit by the golden hues of the sun setting behind her. The way her green eyes search mine, some emotions flickering behind them, making them sparkle. The way her lips part just slightly, the hint of pink from her tongue darting out to wet them. I zero in on that motion, tracking it with my eyes.
This is a bad fucking idea.
I need to keep my distance.
The alarm bells are ringing.
The sign is a big neon flashing red that says, ‘ Stop ! Danger Ahead !’
But my body and brain have lost communication. The chocolate scent that clings to her fills my nostrils as the heat of her cheek fills the palm of my hand. I lean down slowly, inching down until I capture her lips, my body moving on its own accord.
And damn, does she taste good.
Her eyes slip shut and mine follow before I press my body into hers, trapping her beneath me against the car. Her fingers curling into the fabric of my T-shirt. The heat of her against me short circuits the rational part of my head.
My tongue swipes over her bottom lip, begging for entrance, needing to taste all of her. Like I’m a starving man, and she’s my salvation. I devour her.
I breathe her in until my lungs burn, and all I can see, taste, and smell is Emerald goddamn Fiorelli. Burning into every pore and cell. I press harder into her, my fingers slipping into the hair at the base of her head, tilting her head to deepen the kiss.
And for some reason, it feels different this time. So damn different…
The sound of a car door slamming in the distance snaps me back into my body, and I pull back, panting.
My hand drops, and I stare at her.
Chest heaving, lips parted, eyes glazed. Fuck, if she doesn’t look like perfection.
And all I did tonight was kiss her.
Fuck.
Me.
I clear my throat, stepping back. The cold air rushes in, claiming the scent and heat of her as I open her door and round the car without a word. I watch from the corner of my eye as her finger touches her lips and her throat works before she grabs the door and slips in.
Silence fills the car the entire damn drive. What do you say after kissing someone like that? No, not just someone . Someone to whom I know I can never give what she truly needs or deserves.
Before I can even process what the hell just happened, we’re back at my mansion.
She’s out of the car and making her way to the front door before I can even find the words I want to say.
I stare after her. My hand drags through my hair, musing the strands before squeezing the back of my neck. What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened ?
I wait until she’s disappeared inside before roaring back out of the drive.
The ride to the casino is a blur of lights and sounds, my thoughts a rollercoaster. The way she fitted against me, the scent of her, the taste. It’s all branded into my memory. It’s a miracle I even made it to my destination without crashing.
Arriving, I just sit there in the parking lot, pressed back against the leather seat.
I’m reading too much into it.
And yet, the way she looked afterward. The dazed look in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks, the way she melted against me. It all has my head fogging, and my jeans tightening. I close my eyes, but it doesn’t help—the image of Emerald is too fresh in my mind to ignore.
It doesn’t matter what’s gone on between us before today.
Because with that one kiss tonight, she’s managed to shatter any self-resolve I’ve ever had when it comes to her. And she reels me back in stronger than ever…