Sancte Diaboli: Part Two (The Elite King's Club 7)

“How the fuck can you even say that? Do you have proof that I’m going to be good at this?”

She removes the glasses completely and places them in the pocket between us. Her eyes burn through mine, but every so often, I have to check the road. “Brantley, I am your proof.” I pale when I realize what direction she’s going. “You raised me when you were still growing yourself. Why do you think I’m not the least bit worried about that? Why do you think no one is worried about that?” She has a point. Saint is, though different, painfully perfect.

“But you aren’t a Vitiosis. We’re not good people.” I drop it down a gear with a flick of my finger.

“Well, good thing this child will be a product of both you and me. Heaven and hell no longer walking side by side. Heaven and Hell combined as one.”

I feel the tightness in my chest ease slightly, but not enough to feel excitement. “Hate to break it to you, baby, but your other half isn’t looking very fucking compelling either. A Hayes and a Stuprum.” I run my palm down the side of my face. “Fuck, we haven’t even been together for very long.”

“You’re not worried about that either,” she says matter-of-factly. “Stop deflecting. You’re mad because you’re greedy and you wanted more time with me.”

I chuckle, turning off the freeway and onto the connecting street that takes us to Vitiosis Hotel.

“Wow.” Saint shuffles farther up in her seat. She watches buildings pass, her lips parting. I’d forgotten that she hasn’t seen New York yet. She hasn’t seen many places. I need to fix that before she has the baby.

Fuck.

I swallow down the buildup of saliva. I’m going to be a fucking dad.

I pull us into the circular entry, where a valet worker stands, his eyes sparking up when he sees the Bug. The license plate is VITIOSIS. Everyone who works here has either seen or heard of this car. And the owner.

Saint climbs out as I toss the keys at the valet’s chest.

“Boss.” He nods his head, his blond hair falling over his forehead. He looks no older than twenty-five. Still older than me.

Saint’s hand dives into mine and I still slightly, before relaxing. Human interactions with her come naturally, but there are always times when I need reminding. I direct her into the lobby, over the black marble floor and dark glittering chandelier that hangs above our heads. Vitiosis Hotel is the only six-star hotel in New York, and it fucking shows. From the dining to the rooms to the workers. You walk into it and you know you’re going to be looked after—if you have enough money. I’d thought about branching out and building another one somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere, but with my work with The Kings, I’ve lost my appetite to do that. Maybe when the gavel drops…

The elevator doors part, and I step inside, pulling her under my arm while swiping my keyring and pushing TL.

Saint sinks into my chest. “I could sleep for days.”

I kiss the top of her head. “Then you do that. I’ve just got a few things to sort out, one being checking on Benny since he’s babysitting Ophelia and Ivy and the animals.”

“Where are they?” she says through a yawn, and I feel her body go limp beside me. I scoop her up into my arms when the doors part, opening directly onto the top level, also known as my apartment. She wriggles into my neck, her lips pressed to my skin and I squeeze her into my chest farther. In this moment, carrying her to the master bedroom, I know I would do anything and everything for her. Including be a father.

I pass the open-style kitchen that overlooks the city behind floor-to-ceiling windows and step down into the sitting room, before hitting the hallway. “They’re in one of the penthouses a level below us.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, “I figured you would take care of them.”

I ignore her sleep talk and place her body on top of the covers of the California king. Everything in this apartment is black. I designed it that way when Lucan died. The blinds, the bath, the bathrooms, the furnishings. If it’s not black, it’s mahogany wood.

I pull a blanket over Saint’s body and step backward slightly, my eyes on her. Her bright white hair beams off the bedding like a fucking snowflake lost in a storm. My phone vibrates in my pocket, pulling me out of my daze, and I turn, swiping to answer while shutting the door behind me. I unzip my hoodie and toss it onto one of the barstools that hide beneath the counter.

“Yeah?”

“Madison is tired, so I’m going to take her back to HH.”

“Yeah, Saint is already crashed.”

“What does she think of VH?”