Bait

Saint tried to fight, to resist the sexual tension that had been building between them. But fighting was useless. He could see the challenge in Roman's eyes, daring him to cross that line, to see what would happen if he did. It was unavoidable, he knew it and Roman knew it.

"Every time I look at you, all I ever think about is tasting your lips," The confession slipped out. "I want to see your body shiver under my touch. I want to map out every inch of your skin and see where you'd shiver for me the most."

This had to be some Stockholm Syndrome bullshit.

Saint's own thoughts were a mess. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he tried to fight the desire clawing at him. "You shouldn't want this," he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Roman or himself.

"Oh believe me," the priest let out a dry laugh. "I'm very much aware I shouldn't." 

Fuck.

Saint remained silent. His lack of response was starting to make Roman wonder if he'd made a huge mistake goading him like that. But Saint didn't give him anymore time to think. Before he could protest—or maybe before he could even change his mind—Saint's hand cupped the back of his neck and brought Roman flush against his body.

"This is on you," his lips then crashed against Roman's, knocking out every gust of breath from his lungs.

It was anything but gentle, a collision of pent-up frustration and unadulterated hunger pouring at it's purest form. Roman's mind instantly went blank as his body reacted on instinct—fingers threading through Saint's dark, soft hair, as he allowed himself to lose himself into the man.

It wasn't supposed to be this good, to be so... so volatile.

Roman was beginning to realize Saint kissed with everything he had. He tasted like sin but hell, Roman couldn't think of anything better than this. As the kiss deepened, it morphed into something dark and possessive, as if they were both desperate to claim a piece of each other they weren't sure they had the right to take.

The passion that'd enveloped them didn't last long because the front door swung open with a loud thud. They broke apart, both struggling to catch their breaths and completely caught off guard. Nico was now standing in the doorway. His demeanor laced with a ferocity that made Roman's blood feel like someone had dumped a bucket of ice on him.

"Can someone explain to me what on earth is going on here?"

Roman stepped back, feeling a rush of cold where Saint's warmth had been. Saint, however, remained completely unbothered, though his eyes were more guarded, as if the interruption had snapped him back to reality.

"Nico," he acknowledged his brother. "Welcome back."

"I came as soon as I heard about the shooting at the Soirée," Nico continued, his tone filled with disappointment as he glared at Saint. "Is this what you've been up to while everyone else is trying to keep you alive?"

Unflinching, Saint held Nico's gaze. "This isn't the time or place..."

"Like hell it isn't," Nico interrupted, his glare now fully directed at Roman. "We've got bigger problems on our hands. You think this is a good idea? Getting involved with someone like him?"

What did that even mean? Roman felt a bolt of anger bubbling inside of him, but before he could respond, Saint stepped in. "Niccolo you have said quite enough."

His eyes widened, then narrowed again. "This isn't just about you. You're risking everything for what? A fling? He's not worth it. Must I remind you this man is a thief who stole 50million euros from our vault?"

Saint's voice was dangerously calm when he replied, "I'll decide what's worth it. If there's nothing else you came here to tell me, you should probably consider showing yourself out."

Nico's nostrils flared but he didn't argue. Instead, he shifted his focus. "We need to have a discussion about my travels to Sicily."

"How was the situation when you got there?" Saint slipped into business mode quite easily.

Nico's eyes flicked to Roman before he answered. "Our plans to expand to South America might take a bit longer than we expected," he sighed. "Some of our partners are a bit reluctant. They're worried about the attention we've been getting from press, the feds. Also the timing of this shooting... it's too coincidental. You think someone from the inside set it up?"

"Wouldn't be the first time someone tried to off me," Saint crossed the room. "And our partners, they need firm reassurance. They need to know our plans are still intact and there's absolutely nothing to worry about. This expansion is happening no matter what."

Roman felt the weight of Nico's previous words settle like a dark cloud. You think someone from the inside set it up? The idea that someone from within their own operations could have orchestrated an attack aimed to take out their boss was scary and all too plausible.

He didn't want to process the implications, luckily for him, the front door opened yet again, and a man he didn't recognize—Antonio entered, followed by Federico, who was carrying several bags of supplies and groceries.

"Brought in everything you requested, boss," Federico announced, his voice respectful as he placed the bags on the kitchen counter.

Antonio, on the other hand, was all business, his expression serious as he approached his nephews. His eyes briefly strayed to the priest, a hint of disapproval there before he refocused on Saint. "Good thing I found you both here. What happened at the gala wasn't random," he began. "The LaRosa famiglia was sending us a message. The Bull is out."

Saint's expression remained unreadable as he processed the information. "Wasn't the bastard supposed to be locked up for at least twenty more years?"

"Looks like he managed to cut himself a good deal," Antonio supplied.

"Well, that doesn't sound like good news." Nico started pacing.

"If you haven't noticed, LaRosa has been getting bolder," Antonio paused. "Especially now that Ciro is gone. They see it as a weakness."

Saint scoffed. "They should've finished the job because l'm now gunning for their heads one by one."

A look of disagreement crossed Antonio's face. "You need to meet with Donatello to avoid a war, Santino. A war is the last thing we need right now."

Federico, who had been quietly unpacking the groceries, continued to mind his business.

Saint exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Set up the damn meeting."

"I'll take care of it," Antonio nodded. "But you need to be very careful. LaRosa is not playing around, and with the feds sniffing on our trail..."

"Don't worry about the FBI." Saint waved him off. "I'll sort it out."

As Antonio turned to leave, he paused, his gaze settling on Saint. "Is it wise for you to be cooped up in your apartment with only Matteo securing the place considering everything that's happened?"

"You know very well I can handle myself."

"Watch your back, Santino."

Saint couldn't shake the feeling that his uncle's warning carried more than just concern for his safety.

On the other hand, Federico found an opportunity for a promotion. "I can help Matteo keep an eye on things around here, boss," he offered. "Make sure no one gets any ideas while you're recovering."

"Sure." Saint gave him a curt nod.

Once they were alone, Roman could feel Saint's gaze on him, and when he turned to meet it, he saw the worry etched into his features.

"Your brother is right, you know? This—" he gestured at the space between them, "—it's a bad idea."

"Maybe," Saint agreed. But he never claimed to be a genius.

***

The following night was uneventful. Roman had followed Saint to the mezzanine. Through the large windows, below them trains were rumbling to their destinations, their headlights shining through the darkness as they passed. For some odd reason train watching with Saint felt serene.

Roman watched the trains go by as he tried to find the right words. There was a question that had been stuck on his mind lately. "Are you ever going to tell me why you had me running collections?"

Saint didn't answer right away. His eyes were focused on the city below. As an after thought he replied, "Because I wanted to."

"That's it?" Roman didn't believe him for a second.

Saint fully turned to look at him. "It was necessary. Making you, a nobody who stole from the famiglia run collections was meant to piss some people off, and someone—one way or another was going to retaliate or try to challenge my decision."

Roman narrowed his eyes. "So, what? I was some kind of test? Bait?"

The silence was enough of a confirmation. Roman felt a surge of anger but forced himself to stay calm. Saint watched him for a long moment, and then, to Roman's surprise, he reached into his sweats pocket and pulled out a black iPhone. One of the latest versions. He handed it over to him.

Frowning slightly, Roman took it. "What is this?"

"A phone, obviously. My personal number's already in there. Consider it... a sign of good faith."

Roman blinked. He glanced down at the phone, feeling its cool surface against his palm. "You trust me enough to give me this?"

"I trust you enough to give you a way to reach out to me."

Roman looked at the phone. It was more than just a phone—it was a lifeline, a connection that Saint was offering him. It was trust, even though it was tentative.

"Thanks," he muttered.

Roman knew better than to let his guard down completely. He glanced up at Saint, "So where does this leave us?"

"It leaves us on the same side. For now."

"And the kiss?"

"What about it?" Saint's eyes flicked to Roman's lips. "It was good, no?"

Roman scoffed. "Stop trying to play dumb, asshole. You know what I mean."

For a moment Saint was quiet. "No Roman, actually, I don't."

"Was there something there or..."

"Or what?"

Roman glared.

"Maybe if you completed your sentences I wouldn't be having such a hard time trying to figure out what you want to say to me without actually saying it. English is not my first language, Roman."

"Just, forget it, okay?"

"If you say so."

Dick.

"What if I want to go back to my old life with Max?" Roman asked from nowhere.

The mention of Max made Saint visibly bristle. But instead of snapping, he simply asked, "Do you?"

Roman hesitated. The question caught him off guard, and the truth was, he wasn't sure anymore. Max was safe, familiar, a life that made sense. But it also felt distant now, like something that belonged to someone else. Besides, he was safer with the Bertinellis than anywhere else in this country.

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "Everything's different."

"Well, you now have a phone. Call him," Saint told him before he climbed down the stairs.

A part of Roman felt heavily disappointed and sad that Saint was the one to suggest he called his ex fiance.

It only meant one thing. Saint didn't want him.