The Fall of Sin

by Bella J

  “I do.”

  There was no hesitation in her answer, and I saw the conviction in her eyes as she stared up at me.

  “I do still trust you, Saint.”

  It was one of those moments I had no control over. One of those moments that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop from happening. A moment I sealed with a kiss by placing my lips tenderly against hers. It wasn’t fueled by passion or lust. The kiss was a mere act of affection because of the relief I felt to hear that last night wasn’t just a fucking dream. It was real.

  She was real.

  Reluctantly, I pulled away and touched her cheek. “Why? Why would you trust me when I have given you no reason to?”

  “I’m not sure. I know you still have your own agenda, but I also know things aren’t so black and white between us anymore.”

  Her eyes remained on mine for a few seconds longer as if she tried to reach into my mind so she could figure me out. Find all the answers to questions that burned her tongue. But I had no answers for her…at least not yet.

  I touched her bottom lip with my thumb, and I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to be inside her again. The more I tasted her, sampled her, fucked her, the more I craved her.

  My hand slipped from her cheek, down her shoulder and arm, our fingers twined together as she stepped back.

  “I need to freshen up.”

  “You look perfect.”

  Her mouth curved at the corners. “No one can look their best after the night we had.”

  “Fine,” I conceded with a smirk. “Go freshen up and make yourself look good for your husband.”

  She let out a snicker, and I watched her walk down the stairs.

  “Mila?” I called after her, and she looked up from the spiral staircase. “Wear something red.”

  She smiled. “Yes, sir.”

  The word ‘sir’ rolled off her tongue, and it instantly made my dick hard. I had to grab the rail behind me in order to stop me from grabbing her and fucking her all over the leftover antipasto platter.

  The red fabric of her dress twirled around her ankles as she turned and walked down the stairs. I admired every part of her until she disappeared below deck, and I turned to stare out over the ocean behind us. Elena was right. If this thing between Mila and me continued to intensify, the day would come for me to make a decision, to choose between revenge or my wife. But until that day, I would do whatever it took to find a way for me to have both.

  11

  Mila

  I closed the bedroom door behind me and leaned back. A part of me struggled to believe that what happened last night wasn’t a dream. For the first time Saint showed me a side of him I had never seen before.

  A softer side. Gentle. Caring. Trusting.

  He wasn’t the cruel man who didn’t blink at the thought of killing in cold blood. He wasn’t the man who forced me to walk naked down the hall of his house. The man who made me shower while he watched. And he sure wasn’t the man who had pinned me down on the dining table after making me sign every document he needed to own me and my ten percent shares of Torres Shipping.

  There were butterflies in my belly and a dreamy smile on my face, for Christ’s sake. How did I go from hating him to falling for him?

  After a long, soothing shower, I stood in front of the closet with a towel wrapped around me. Saint wanted me to wear red, but among all the designer labels and thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing there wasn’t a single red item. How was that for a giant fuck-you from my friend Murphy? I decided to go with a summer jumpsuit romper, the neckline accentuated with a gold zipper that dipped low between my breasts. On the one hand, I was slightly disappointed at the lack of attire in Saint’s favorite color. But on the other hand, I secretly liked the fact that not wearing red would come across as defiance in his eyes. It was, after all, part of the game between us—me defying him.

  While I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I thought about Raphael. My brother. It was as if now, whenever I saw my own face, I saw his too. A part of me wished there was a way I could get to know him, spend time with him, and maybe even get the chance to meet my mother. But I saw the hate that ticked between Saint and Raphael, a timebomb mere seconds away from exploding. Saint held a gun at my brother’s head, his expression that of disdain and aversion. There was no chance I’d get them in the same room without them trying to kill each other. And that meant I wouldn’t get the chance to get to know my brother. Not yet.

  I found Elena and Saint already sitting at the breakfast table which had been set on the top deck where Saint and I had our dinner. The second I took that final step and looked into Saint’s eyes, heat spread from my cheeks to my ears.

  “Mila.” Saint placed his napkin on the table and pulled a chair out for me. “We were wondering when you’d grace us with your presence.”

  I took a seat, and Saint sat back down. “I was just telling Aunt Elena how beautiful you looked in that red dress,” his hand touched my thigh under the table, “and how I had requested you wear it more. Yet you’re not wearing anything red.” His fingers bit into the soft flesh of my thigh, and pain shot down my leg. I was taken aback by his fierce reprimand, yet my spine tingled with anticipation.

  “I will take responsibility for that,” Elena chimed in. “I had put together Mila’s wardrobe without the knowledge that you preferred the color red.”

  Saint grinned. “It’s a newly acquired preference.”

  “Well, then, it seems Mila and I have some shopping to do. I will arrange for a charter to escort us to the mainland by midday.”

  Saint glowered at Elena. “I’d prefer you make use of online retailers.”

  “Don’t be silly, Marcello.” Elena snickered. “Since Mila’s entire wardrobe consists of items chosen based on my style, I think it’s time she fills her closet with items based on her own personal style.”

  Saint cut through the eggs benedict on his plate. “I will arrange one of Italy’s top designers to be escorted to the Empress. There’s no need for you to go to the mainland.”

  “Marcello, dear,” Elena gently touched his arm, “I think it’s time she experiences the beauty and glamor of Milan. It is, after all, the world’s capital of fashion.”

  I glanced from Elena to Saint, and I saw the way his jaw ticked and his nostrils flared. He didn’t want me going to the mainland. He didn’t want me anywhere off this yacht. But it was quite tempting, the idea of going to the mainland and to finally be able to wear clothing I chose myself.

  “Saint,” I started with a soft tone, “it would be nice to go to Milan. To see more of Italy than just the ocean.”

  “Fine,” he snapped, throwing down his knife and causing me to jolt in my seat. “But James and I will be going with you.”

  “Marcello, a shopping spree will hardly be entertaining for you.”

  He glared at Elena while clenching his jaw. “Either we all go, or no one goes.”

  The air went from light and comforting to heavy and thick. It was the first time I saw Saint act with authority toward Elena. And the way her cheeks flushed, it was clear it didn’t happen often either.

  “Fine.” Elena scooped a piece of cantaloupe on her spoon. “We can make a day out of it. Besides, Mila needs a gown for the charity ball on Friday evening. Maybe you can help her choose.”

  Saint shot Elena a warning glare.

  “What charity ball?” I looked up at him.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not planning on going.” His reply was short and clipped, and a clear indication that the topic wasn’t open for discussion, something Elena chose to ignore.

  “Marcello, you need to go. It’s your charity ball. Surely, the host cannot be absent from such an event.”

  I reached out and touched his arm. “Which charity?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it does. Which charity?”

  “It’s for children’s education,” Elena answered on his behalf. “The charity ball is to raise f
unds for the children whose parents cannot afford to pay for decent education.”

  Surprised, I gently squeezed his arm. “Wow. Saint, that’s such a wonderful thing to do.”

  “What?” he shot back. “You didn’t think I was capable of doing something nice, of being anything other than a cruel husband?”

  “Saint, that’s not—”

  He tossed his napkin on the table and stood from his seat. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements for us to go to Milan. But you are not going to the charity ball, and it is not open for discussion.”

  I lightly shook my head. “Saint—”

  “I said it’s not open for discussion. Is that understood?”

  The deep tenor of his words hit hard against my chest, as if I were a child scolded for doing something wrong.

  “Understood,” I muttered, staring down at the fruit bowl in front of me while my heart was slowly creeping up my throat.

  “Good. I’ll let the captain know we’ll be using Bell to fly to Milan.”

  He stomped off and left me and Elena behind in silence. It was only when the sound of his footsteps disappeared that I looked up. “Who or what is Bell?”

  Elena seemed completely unfazed by Saint’s hostile behavior. “It’s Marcello’s private helicopter that can dock on the Empress.”

  My eyes widened. “A helicopter? That docks on here…on the yacht?”

  She let out a laugh. “Oh, Mila. You’ve only seen the front half of the Empress.”

  I popped a grape into my mouth. “Is there any end to his wealth?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “And this charity ball, is there a reason he doesn’t want me to go?”

  She wiped her lips with her napkin and set it down beside her plate. “A man like Marcello prefers to keep his most prized possessions hidden from greedy eyes, Mila.”

  “I’m not his possession.”

  She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Are you not?”

  Annoyance bloomed in my chest. “He might own me on paper, but I can assure you I am not his possession.”

  “Nevertheless,” she stood, “Marcello won’t be flaunting you in public any time soon. In the meantime, get ready to go spend your husband’s hard-earned money.” She winked and trotted off, leaving me alone at the breakfast table. The last hour didn’t quite go as I had imagined it would, not after the night Saint and I shared. I walked up those stairs with butterflies in my belly and goosebumps on my skin. Now I sat with a gut filled with uncertainties and a tingle of warning in the back of my neck. This was how it would be with Saint. One giant roller coaster of emotions, jumping from surety to doubt within the blink of eye. Saint was not the kind of man you’d get to know what to expect of from one day to the other. Every day would be different, and nothing about being with him would ever end up being routine. In order to arm myself, to know what every new day with Saint would bring, was to always expect the unexpected.

  For the rest of the morning, I roamed around the front of the yacht, reclined on the couch reading a magazine, and enjoyed a little vitamin D that soaked through my pores. Both Elena and Saint had been absent, and it was only James’s presence that lingered around me. I was getting used to having his hawk eyes on me whenever I wasn’t safely tucked away in my bedroom. Who knew what he expected to happen since I couldn’t go anywhere. Well, I could if I knew how to ride a Jet Ski, or if I could swim for miles on end. Other than that, I was pretty well hidden in the middle of the fucking ocean.

  I huffed and tossed the magazine down on the ground. It frustrated me to think of Saint wanting to hide me, wanting to keep me on this yacht for the next four months. Our agreement was six months, and we were already two months in. Two months of complete mindfuckery. I glanced up at the glass and steel-bar barrier on the top level. Also some carnal, dangerous fuckery.

  It was safe to say I had never experienced sex like I had with Saint before. The kink. The darkness. The way he demanded my submission and I so freely gave it. I knew I was a lot of things, but I never thought I’d be the kind of woman who would like to be sexually dominated. In fact, Saint’s dominance went far beyond the bedroom. How he gripped my thigh earlier with the hidden warning of my defiance by not wearing red, the pain that flared down my leg, I liked it. I liked the thrill, the adrenaline that surged through my veins within a split second. All it took was one hard, prominent touch, and the need to submit flared between my legs.

  “You ready?”

  I looked up at Saint, who blocked the sun by towering over me. “Ready for?”

  “Our trip to Milan.” His expression showcased his annoyance and his lack of enthusiasm.

  I swung my feet off the recliner and stood. “Are you going to be a buzzkill?”

  His eyebrows almost touched his hairline. “A buzzkill?”

  “I’ll admit shopping is not my sport of choice, but I’m looking forward to wearing clothes of my own choosing, as well as seeing places that are not this yacht.” I rested my hands on my hips. “If you are going to be carrying that expression for the duration of the trip, maybe you should consider staying rather than spoiling it for all of us.”

  His lips curved into a smile, but nothing about it was kind or inviting. Instead it was ominous, and the way he grabbed my elbow, jerking me up against him without caring that his fingers sliced into my flesh, was a reflection of his malicious smile.

  “I might find your blatant defiance amusing at times, Mila. But do not test me by thinking you can raise your voice at me.” His grip tightened as he lowered his face to mine. “Once we are back from Milan, you will go straight to your room and anticipate the type of punishment you deserve.”

  “What…punishment?” My voice was a mere whisper, a stutter of words.

  “You’ll have the entire trip to wonder about that.” He leaned down so his lips touched my ear and whispered, “And here’s another warning for you. Do not think this trip is for you to get what you want. With every blouse, every dress, every piece of lingerie you try on, you will think about me, and whether I’d approve or not. You will think of nothing but me and my cock the entire fucking time.” He dragged his tongue along the curve of my ear, causing me to shiver. “Pun very much intended.”

  Without letting go of my arm, he pulled back and led me across the deck, through a door behind the bar. We continued down a hall, and the smell of food filled my nostrils. There was a second dining room with a twelve-seat dining set, and a white corner couch with a large television set against the adjacent wall. The billiard table was placed across the room, and the bar counter with a clear glass fridge behind it made me wonder if this was the real entertainment area. I wondered what type of parties were held here, the kind of orgies that took place on those couches. Was Anette part of it? The day she and her father arrived here, it sure looked like she knew her way around the yacht.

  God, the thought alone made my skin crawl. Not even Saint’s tight grip around my elbow could divert my attention off the disturbing thought.

  I heard the hinges of the door Saint opened, and we walked out the back, sun beaming down on us once again. As he stepped to the side, the helicopter greeted us with its impressive black features against the blue of the ocean in the background. James and Elena were already there waiting.

  “Sir.” James nodded toward Saint and stood to the side as he opened the door.

  Saint held my hand and helped as I stepped on the footplate and climbed inside. Excitement bubbled as I took a seat on one of the beige leather seats, Saint sitting down beside me. Our little dispute five minutes ago was forgotten as I took in everything around me, unsettled nerves slithering in my belly. “I’ve never been in a helicopter before.”

  He leaned over me, so close I could smell the earthy scent of his cologne and see the dark shades of his five o’clock shadow that dusted his chiseled jaw. My belly went into overdrive as my insides did a thousand summersaults. The sleeves of his pinstriped suit jacket brushed against my arm and sent a jolt of ene
rgy across my skin. Instantly parched, I licked my lips, and his gaze cut to the movement. He stilled with the seatbelt in hand, his eyes settled on my mouth. The world disappeared, and it was just us in that split second. Us, and the intense sexual tension that threatened to snap our self-control.

  Saint was first to break the moment and pulled both belts of the harness over my shoulders and clipped it together, securing me in my seat.

  “Here, put this on.” He handed me a pair of aviation headphones.

  I smirked at him as he put his headset on, and he slanted a brow.

  “What?”

  “All of this kind of reminds me of a book I once read. I guess I expected you to be the pilot.”

  He snorted. “I think I know which book you’re referring to. And no, I’m not the pilot.” Wicked intentions danced across his features as he reached around. “But I do have a taste for a woman bound and gagged, completely at my mercy.”

  I swallowed hard and clenched my thighs. Luckily, Elena took her seat across from us, and her presence sliced through the sexual tension that exploded between Saint and me.

  James climbed in and took the pilot’s seat. I wasn’t the least surprised about the fact that James was the pilot. The man seemed to be anything and everything Saint needed him to be. I made a mental note to make James the topic of one of my daily questions to ask Saint sometime. But for now, James’s role in Saint’s life would take a back seat to all the other unanswered questions I had.

  The rotor blades started to turn, and I was surprised to hear how loud it was. The faster it turned, the louder the noise became.

  “Everyone buckled up?” James’s voice came through the headphones loud and clear.

  “Ready,” Saint replied and gave James a thumbs-up. Some time passed as the rotor blades whirred away, and I heard James speak to air control asking for permission to take off. My stomach flipped, and I grabbed Saint’s hand. I didn’t even think about what I was doing…not until he put his other hand on top of mine and squeezed.

  “Just breathe,” he said through the headset. It reminded me of the flight on his private plane, when I stood at the precipice of having a panic attack and he managed to talk me through it—an odd thing for my kidnapper to do. So much time had passed. So many things had changed between us, I found it hard to remember how I felt about him back then.