Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

21 | Nina

Santo's lips must have some sedative quality, because I have the best sleep of my life.

I wake midmorning to sunlight streaming past the curtains I forgot to close last night. My limbs tremble as I stretch, squishing my face into the pillows contentedly. My ankle gives a twinge, and I wince.

I remember when I was nine, Aunt Edna told me I needed to help bring the dinner dishes to the table one night. It wasn't for me—she and Andrea were entertaining company and I was expected to stay in my room for the duration of the visit. It was a huge crockpot filled with some kind of steaming dish, and my little arms could barely wrap around it fully. I got only a few steps before it went crashing to the floor, food and glass splattering everywhere.

Andrea backhanded me so hard, I went crashing into the wall. For the next three weeks, I silently healed from the burns across the front of my body. My clothes rubbing against the wounds had me in excruciating pain all day at school, and one day I asked my teacher what you were supposed to put on a burn to make it feel better.

People are blinder than they like to think. Most of the time, we stay absorbed in our own lives without much care for the intricacies and nuances that run through the lives of those around us. My teacher didn't bat an eye as she told me the name of a burn cream, and she didn't say anything as she watched me hobble around school for weeks afterwards. I never blamed her, not for that or ignoring all those times she saw my bruises. The inherent selfishness of humans is something that is far beyond my control. I stole the cream from the nearest grocery store on my way home—my own necessary act of selfishness—and as the days passed, I made myself better.

I've never had somebody care for me. I heal myself, because there's never been anyone else around. This feeling is something entirely new to me, and it makes me crave Santo's presence so badly now that I ache with it. I've never wanted someone like this, felt that all-consuming urge to be all-consumed by them.

And this is the danger of finally opening up my heart to someone, because I'm not sure what Santo wants from me, but how could I deny him anything? How could I not bend and even break if he asked me to?

I'm hobbling into the kitchen when a hand on my waist stops me. Startled, I whip around, coming face to face with the man who populated every second of my dreams last night.

He's looking at me as if he's waiting for me to do something. As if he's almost... uncertain. I didn't think I'd ever see that hesitancy in him, and I doubt he did either. It's what makes me smile, small and slightly nervous, but that's all he needs.

"Tesoro," he murmurs, and there's something different about him. Something softer in the way he's looking at me, almost like he's relieved.

"Hi," I smile wider, stepping closer to the heat of his body without even meaning to. His wet hair tells me he just showered, and he smells good enough to eat.

His other hand goes to my chin, thumb pressing on my bottom lip again, like he's making sure I'm ready for him. Then he stoops and brings his mouth to mine, and happiness swirls in my chest. His hair is cold on my face and his fingers press into my chin. I open my mouth on a sigh, and a growl rumbles his chest as he pushes into me harder.

My whimper seems to pull him out of the moment, and he reluctantly pulls back, but keeps me close to him.

He looks conflicted, and I frown. "What's wrong?"

He pushes me away a little, and my heart sinks. "I don't want you to think... I don't know what I'm doing with you," he says with horrifying honesty.

"Weren't you the one just telling me not to think? I don't know what I'm doing with you either, but maybe we can just do what feels right."