Romances de Sage Quinn

SNOW stood at the long dining table late one morning, checking inventory lists while sunlight spilled soft through tall glass doors. She had run this house her way for weeks now. Every meal, every repair, every shift of staff fell under her eye. It felt right. It felt like something truly hers. Yet the old wariness never fully faded. She never let it. Silas walked in wiping ink from his fingers, looking worn and sharp around the edges as usual. He stopped short seeing her surrounded by papers and ledgers instead of out in the dirt. He leaned one shoulder against the carved doorframe, that familiar lazy smirk tugging at his mouth already. “Let me guess,” he drawled slow and dry. “You are plotting to bankrupt me through flower orders? Very clever strategy. Hit a man right in his wallet before you hit him anywhere else.” Snow did not even look up right away, though the corner of her own mouth tugged despite her best effort. “I am checking supply costs actua

THE heavy oak door clicked shut behind Silas. Snow stood exactly where he left her, chest heaving fast and uneven. Her fingers still burned where they had fisted his shirt. Her lips still throbbed from that deliberate, claiming kiss that had stolen every sharp word right out of her throat. She hated him. She told herself that over and over until the thought rang hollow around the edges. Hating him took so much energy she barely had anything left for herself. Silas kept his distance for days after that. Not far enough to feel truly alone, but far enough to let her breathe. He told Lorenzo straight out that she answered to no one but him inside these walls. She could go anywhere she wanted. She could change anything she pleased. She ran this house as its rightful lady. The matriarch. Every order she gave carried the same weight as his own. Guards bowed their heads. Staff jumped when she spoke. It felt strange and heady and more than a little dangerous al

MORNING light seeped through heavy velvet curtains slow and pale. Snow woke before the sun fully cleared the mountain peaks. She lay perfectly still for long seconds trying to place where she was. The scent of old wood, cedar and something dark and masculine filled the air. A heavy warm arm draped firm across her waist pulled her tight against a solid chest she had learned belonged to Silas. Her breath caught sharp. Every muscle locked rigid instantly. She remembered everything. The wedding. The drive. The slaughter downstairs. Him dragging her into this room and refusing to sleep anywhere else. Silas shifted behind her with a low rough hum against her shoulder blade. He did not wake fully right away but his hold only grew tighter. Snow’s heart hammered hard enough to rattle her ribs. She tried easing his arm off slow and careful. He felt like iron. “Stop wiggling,” he mumbled. His half asleep voice was thick and gravelly. “Keep that up and I will assume you

BLOOD ran thick and dark across the stone floor of the great hall. It pooled fast around overturned furniture and seeped deep into the cracks between ancient rocks. Bodies lay still and twisted deep already. More fell with every step Silas took through the wreckage. He moved like a blade himself. Fast, sharp and untouched while chaos tore the room apart around him. Gunfire roared then fell silent one section at a time until only groans and heavy breathing remained. He wiped the blood from his jaw with the back of one hand and looked down at the last man still standing. The intruder swayed bleeding from half a dozen wounds yet still tried to lift his weapon. Silas kicked the gun away hard enough to send it sliding across slick stone. He leaned down calm as if discussing the weather while blood soaked his expensive shirt black. “Is that all you brought?” Silas asked, tone bored and biting sarcastic as ever. “I told people for years, I r

THE priest stood frozen. His mouth opened and closed without a single word coming out. The entire cathedral held its breath. Silas did not so much as blink. He simply kept his hand out steady and waiting as if this happened every Tuesday. Snow stared up at him, chest heaving fast beneath layers of lace. Every eye burned into her skin but she looked only at the man who had turned her whole world upside down in minutes. “Well?” Silas prompted dry. “I am not getting any younger and neither is this ceremony. Unless you plan to stand there gaping all day. I can find better things for us to do with our time.” “You cannot be serious about this,” Snow whispered sharp enough for only him to catch. “You are nothing but a stranger. A dangerous one.” “Stranger is a strong word,” he countered smooth as silk. “I seem to recall you patching me up all night. That makes us practically old acquaintances. Almost family even.” “You are insane,” she told

SMOKE choked the narrow Sicily alley. Broken glass glinted under dim streetlights. Bodies littered the wet cobblestones before the fight even hit its wild peak. Silas Rinaldi stood right in the middle of it all, gun in one hand and a curved blade in the other, blood splashed across his coat and jaw like some dark work of art. He was thirty years old, built like a fortress and twice as hard to crack, and he looked thoroughly unimpressed by the slaughter swirling around him. “Let me guess,” Silas called out loud and clear even through the shouting and gunfire, sarcasm cutting sharper than steel. “Damon really sent every last available idiot after me? He must be desperate.” The attacker sneered and waved his weapon. “You die tonight, Rinaldi. No deals. No mercy.” Silas rolled his eyes so hard it was almost dramatic. “Very intimidating.” He moved before the man finished his threat. Bullets sparked off stone walls inches from him as he dove forwa