Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

08 | Nina

I manage to stay up most of the night.

I begin to drift off countless times, my eyes begging to close and send me off into a deep slumber, but fear rips them back open every time. In the quiet of the night, with the creepy sounds of the nocturnal animals and insects, I've worked myself into an anxious mess. Every noise freaks me out, and I've convinced myself that the door to the cabin is going to slam wide open and Santo will stand there, smirking at me, before he lunges at me with a knife.

It's safe to say that me, anxiety, and nighttime do not mix well.

Santo ends up coming back with the sunrise. He lets himself in quietly, and I pretend to be asleep until I hear the sound of the shower. Then I rise, making sure my clothes fully cover me. Out of sheer paranoia, I've put on huge, baggy clothes. I even put on a couple layers last night, my panicked brain thinking that the more clothes I had on, the longer it would take someone to rip them off.

That someone being Santo.

I don't know if he would rape me. I remember what he told me, that nobody would be doing that to me. But his word means nothing to me.

The groceries ended up staying out all night, which means most of them have been spoiled. I curse myself for being so entrenched in my anxiety that I forgot to put them away after Michael slipped them inside.

I put away what's not perishable, making myself some toast. Santo exits the shower in a cloud of steam and I choke on my bread.

He gives me a look, and I blush. My nerves feel shot, my heart beating irregularly in my chest. I'm a wreck and I'm praying he can't see.

It's not helping my nerves that he's walking around without a shirt, his skin glistening and a towel wrapped tightly around his hips.

"I didn't put away the groceries," I tell him nervously. "They've gone bad."

He drops his towel, and I nearly choke again. He's facing away from me, and I quickly avert my eyes, glad he can't see my reaction.

"That's fine. Michael will send for more."

"I feel bad," I ramble, listening to the sound of him putting on clothes. Thank God. "I don't like wasting food. I wasted almost everything."

"Nobody gives a shit, Nina. It's fine," he clips, and my shoulders droop.

He sounds exhausted too. Considering the state of his bruises, I'm not sure how he's even standing.

"I'm gonna, um, yeah," I mumble, feeling my eyes fill. I make it to the bathroom, slamming the door shut and letting the tears fall.

I silently cry for so long that I end up flipping the shower nozzle on, so Santo thinks I'm actually doing something productive. The tears just won't stop. Part of it is that I'm so frustrated at myself.

I wish I could find a way to fight back.

It turns out I didn't need to turn on the water out of worry that Santo would become suspicious because when I finally leave the bathroom, my eyes scrubbed practically raw, he's long gone.

+

Only a few hours pass before I'm completely fed up. There's not much to do in the Romano mansion but there's even less to do in this tiny cabin—it might be quaint and cozy, but there's not even a book for me to read.

Plus, I'm alone. That makes it easier for my fears and worries to take ahold of me.

Which is why I decide to talk to Michael.

He's a middle aged man with a bald head and a body as big as about three of me standing shoulder to shoulder. Your stereotypical bodyguard.

"Mr. Romano explicitly ordered to have you stay on the premises," he says in a gruff voice.