Page 104 of Sinful Lies

“Grace.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

Finally, she sighed, frustrated, muttering, “The Lazzios’ meeting room. But you won’t get far. You don’t even have clearance to get to the?—”

I didn’t wait for her to finish.

My eyes darted to her desk, catching sight of her keys—the set with the elevator pass I needed.

Without a second thought, I lunged.

“Jade!” Grace shrieked, scrambling up as I snatched the keys, pushed her out of the way, and bolted for the elevator.

Yep, second time I’ve knocked the poor old lady to the floor.

At this rate, Satan’s probably drafting me for a TED Talk in Hell on how to be the perfect villain.

The doors slid open, and I jabbed the button with more force than necessary, willing them to close faster as Grace’s heels clicked furiously behind me.

She almost made it.Almost.

But the doors sealed shut just in time, cutting off her furious shouts.

I leaned back against the cool metal, clutching the keys, adrenaline surging.

“Guess I’m doing this the messy way after all.”

Chapter

Twenty-Six

“If you can make a woman laugh, you can make her do anything.”

? Marilyn Monroe

Angelo

“The bastard’s hiding. No one’s laid eyes on him since that night,” my uncle Fernando grumbled, voice thick with frustration. “Probably shitting himself knowing you made it, and figuring you’ll be tearing after his worthless ass.”

Vittori leaned in. “He’s not hiding. He’s sitting back, waiting for you to find him. He knows you’ll come, and he’s betting it’ll end his way—his last pathetic move, all for that dead whore of his.”

My father slammed his fist against the table. “He stole ten fucking million, Angelo! Ten million! And he’s still breathing? That piece of shit should’ve been rotting in the ground days ago! What the fuck are you waiting for?”

I grabbed my coffee, just to have something in my hands. The burn as it slid down did nothing to numb the fire gnawing at my head, the same goddamn image looping in my mind, no matter how hard I tried to erase it.

Jade fucking Whitenhouse.

Mia diavoletta.

That raven hair, always looking like it was begging to be grabbed, her dark eyes that dared me to do it—dared me to lose control. That pale skin, the kind that bruises too easily, marking every damn reminder of who’s been there. And those fucking freckles, scattered across her chest like a goddamn map, begging to be followed.

Her tits. Perfect, maddening, and so fucking full I swore they were made to bring me to my knees. Pink nipples I wanted to bite, suck, and turn red under my teeth. And her waist—small enough to snap if I wasn’t careful, curving just right into those hips I knew would fit perfectly in my hands.

Then those legs.

God, those fucking legs. Long and sleek, wrapped in those fucking heels, like a wet dream built to destroy me.

And the dragon. That fucking tattoo. Colorful ink carved into her perfect skin, coiling down her back like it was made to taunt me.

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