Saint’s POV

Lucio’s voice comes through the earpiece before the car even reaches the curb.

“He made contact.”

The words stop me mid-step.

“Where?”

“At the hospital. Public enough that I couldn’t shut it down without drawing eyes.”

My jaw tightens. Nico knows exactly how far to push. He’ll get close, plant seeds, and leave me to clean up the mess. It’s his favorite game.

“Did she say anything?”

Lucio pauses for half a beat. “Didn’t look scared. Didn’t back down either.”

That’s worse. Fear would keep her cautious. Defiance will make her dig.

I slide into the back seat, the city blurring past the windows as the driver pulls away. My mind runs through every angle, how Nico knew where she’d be, what he wanted her to hear, how fast I can erase the trail.

By the time we pull into the garage under my building, my patience is already worn down to the bone. Lucio meets me at the elevator.

“She’s upstairs,” he says. “Didn’t talk much on the way back.”

The elevator ride feels longer than it is. When the doors open, I find her in the living room, still in her hospital scrubs, her hair pulled loose from the bun she wore this morning. She’s sitting on the couch with her knees drawn up, staring at the muted TV like she’s not actually seeing it.

I close the distance in three steps. “What did he say to you?”

Her eyes flick up to me, unreadable. “Who?”

“Maya.” My voice drops. “Don’t play with me. Nico.”

Something in her gaze hardens. “He said he’s known you a long time. That everyone who gets close to you ends up bleeding.”

I exhale slowly through my nose, fighting the urge to put my fist through the wall. That’s exactly the kind of line Nico uses, half truth, half threat. Enough to rattle you without showing his hand.

“And you believed him?”

“I don’t know.” Her answer is quick, but the hesitation before it isn’t.

I step closer. “You think I’d hurt you?”

She looks away, and the silence between us is heavier than any answer she could give.

I want to tell her the truth, that Nico’s not wrong about the danger, just about the source of it. I want to tell her that I’ve spent years making sure the blood on my hands never belonged to someone I cared about. But caring is the problem. Caring makes you a target.

Instead, I say, “If he comes near you again, you walk away. No questions. No conversation.”

She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “And if I don’t?”

My voice goes low enough to scrape. “Don’t test me.”

We stand there for a long moment, her gaze locked on mine, and I can almost feel the trust we’ve been building start to fracture. It’s not broken yet, but Nico’s crack in the wall is there.

I turn away before I say something I can’t take back. “Change out of those scrubs. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

“Where?” she asks.

“To remind Nico why I told him to stay out of my business.”

The drive is silent. She sits beside me in the back seat, her arms crossed, her eyes on the passing city lights. I can feel the questions she’s not asking, the ones burning holes in her chest.

We pull up to a private club on the east side, the kind of place that doesn’t have a sign because it doesn’t need one. Inside, the lighting is low, the air thick with the scent of whiskey and expensive perfume.

Nico is here, I knew he would be. He likes to linger where he’s not wanted.

He’s at a table near the back, a glass of red wine in his hand and a smirk already on his face when he sees me. His gaze flicks to Maya, then back to me.

“Saint,” he says, drawing out the word. “And you brought company.”

I don’t bother sitting. “You think approaching her was a good idea?”

He leans back in his chair, all lazy arrogance. “You’ve been keeping her hidden. I was curious.”

“Curiosity gets people killed,” I say flatly.

Nico’s smirk widens. “Or it gets them answers.”

I step closer, my shadow falling over his table. “Stay away from her.”

“And if I don’t?” His eyes gleam like he’s daring me to make it ugly here.

I lean in just enough for only him to hear. “Then you’ll find out exactly how much of Venice I brought back with me.”

For a fraction of a second, his smirk fades. Then it’s back, but I’ve already seen the crack.

I turn and walk away before he can bait me further, Maya trailing silently at my side. The ride back is even quieter than the drive there.

When we step into the apartment, she finally speaks. “What happened in Venice?”

The question lands like a punch.

I look at her, really look at her, and I know I can’t give her the truth yet. Not without losing her.

“One day,” I say, and it’s a promise I’m not sure I can keep.