Page 102 of The Crowned Garza

Saint observes it, nodding slowly, then raises a questioning brow at me. “I promise?”

“I want you to make me one, yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Promise me that one day you will choose me. Above my brothers, above Red Cage, above your duties to your family…above all of it. One day, you will chooseme. One day, I will be not just yourpiccola regina,butthequeen in your life.”

Lower lip caught between his teeth, he studies me for several beats, then nods. “Can I make a small suggestion?”

When I nod, he points to the letter O. “How about a crown on this?”

A smile pulls at my lips because that...that’sperfect.

After I’ve made the addition of a crooked crown over the O, he asks, “Where do you want it?”

I tug at his suspenders. “I’m gonna need you to undress, sir.”

“Sì, signora.”

Once his bow tie and shirt are off, and I’ve spent a long time fake deliberating as an excuse to ogle him, I decide on a spot among the ink on his left pectoral.

He calls the tattoo artist into the room once all is decided and keeps me seated on his thigh while he gets inked.

By the time it’s done, I’ve decided I want one of my own and have it sketched out on the tracing pad.

In a simple but elegant calligraphy, the words“tua piccola regina,”with a tiny bow tie on either side.

When the artist asks me where I want it tatted and I point to a spot just shy of my pelvic bone on the left, Saint gives me a hard look that conveys without words just how much he dislikes the idea of the artist inking me in such an intimate spot. But he doesn’t even attempt to sway me. Somehow, he knows how important my freedom to choose and make my own independent decisions is to me, and I like that. Considering I have four brothers who couldn’t give a damn and just bulldoze over me all the time, telling me what I should and shouldn’t do.

Saint respects my free will, even at his own displeasure, and I find that incredibly sexy.

We swap places on the tattoo bed and he pulls up a chair to where my head is reclined.

While the buzzing tattoo gun etches into my skin, Saint takes the opportunity to give me Italian lessons. Common sentences and words. Colloquialisms. Makes me translate passages in Italian and corrects me in the parts that are wrong. Gives me tips and tricks on how to pick apart sentences to understand them better.

By the time my tattoo is done, I’m able to construct complete intelligible sentences. Something I haven’t been able to accomplish in years. All this time, I thought my head was hard, when really I just needed a hot teacher who kept me mesmerized by making the Italian language sound like raw sex.

After my tattoo has been oiled and covered and I’m given care instructions, I tell him, “Thanks for taking my mind off the pain.”

“It’s your first. And you chose a delicate area,” he says. “Had to keep you distracted or you probably would have quit halfway through.”

“Are you calling me a wimp?”

“I know men who will wrestle a bear, ride a bull, jump out of a plane, but won’t go near a tattoo gun.” He drops a kiss to my lips. “You’re a trooper,bellissima.”

On our way out, the stocky artist leans into Saint and tells him in a low voice, “Heads-up, you might run into El Depravados downstairs. Your girl’s tat wasn’t planned, so I didn’t account for that time, and he’s scheduled to be here about now.”

Saint jerks a nod. “Appreciate the heads-up.”

Halfway down the stairs, Saint stops, gets out his phone, and pulls up something on the screen.

I lean in to peek. It’s panoramic footage of outside this building as well as the entire street. He watches for a few seconds, then pockets the phone and continues down the stairs.

Outside in the small parking lot, a black Escalade is reversing into the spot across from Saint’s vehicle. The headlights switch off, and three doors open. Two men emerge from the front, one from the back. Well dressed in a double-breasted suit with confidently squared shoulders, the man from the back is undoubtedly the one in charge. His demeanor screams power, danger.

Saint presses the key fob into my hand. “Go. Get in the car.”

“These men are enemies of yours?”