Chapter 12 Saint
Saint
Idon’t let him off the wall.
Not yet.
My forearm presses against Marco Rossi’s throat.
His feet barely touch the floor.
“You don’t get to walk in here and rewrite reality,” I growl.
“Two men came into my house.”
My voice drops.
“One of them died.”
Marco doesn’t struggle.
Doesn’t panic.
His breathing stays steady.
“I know,” he says quietly.
“And I’m glad one of them didn’t walk out.”
That stops me.
“What?”
He holds my gaze.
Completely serious.
“Say that again.”
“My mother hired them,” he says evenly.
“I’ve been trying to stop her for months.”
I stare into his eyes.
Looking for the tell.
The hesitation.
The lie.
But there’s nothing there except something colder.
Fury.
Controlled.
Focused.
“You’re telling me you didn’t order the hit.”
“I’m telling you,” he says calmly,
“I’m here to prevent the next one.”
Behind me, chairs scrape.
Trigger.
Wolf.
Havoc.
The team forms up automatically.
Trigger crosses his arms.
“Proof.”
Marco doesn’t move until I ease just enough pressure off his throat for him to reach into his jacket.
My grip tightens instantly.
But he moves slowly.
Carefully.
He pulls out his phone and sets it on the bar.
“Accounts,” he says.
“Shell companies.”
He scrolls once.
“The broker she used.”
Another file appears.
“The contractor she burned.”
I don’t release him.
But I look.
Numbers.
Transfers.
Names.
Too clean to be fake.
Too detailed to be coincidence.
Trigger leans in beside me.
His eyes scan the screen quickly.
Then his expression changes.
“This is real,” he says quietly.
Wolf swears under his breath.
“Then she’s escalating,” Marco says.
His voice remains calm.
But something dark moves in his eyes.
“She always does.”