Page 114 of Sinful Lies

Without a second thought, he aimed a fire extinguisher at me and blasted it, coating my dress in a white, misty fog that left a chill in the air.

My hands instinctively flew up, trying to shield my face from the blast of spray that had soaked my dress.

The room went deadly silent.

Angelo’s gaze, now fully possessive, held mine for a moment too long before his eyes threw daggers at Vittori.

I blinked through the smoke, pushing the mist away, still processing what had just happened.

My heart sank as I realized what had just triggered him.

Jealousy.

But it wasn’t just jealousy—it was something darker, something possessive.

Vittori let out a low chuckle, his eyes flicking between me and Lazzio.

“What the fuck, Lazzio?” I snapped, brushing the mist off my arms.

“I apologize, Miss Whitenhouse, but I thought I saw a flame on your dress. Seems like it’s just the one burning between your legs.”

Bastard.

He was pissed that I’d dared to flirt with Vittori in front of him.

My eyes scanned the room.

The crowd had vanished—probably too embarrassed for me—or maybe they were just eager to spread the drama, running downstairs to share the spectacle with everyone else.

Either way, they had enough juicy material for their gossip.

I could practically hear the whispers now:Did you see how Angelo Lazzio fired that fire extinguisher at his employee?

Ugh, I couldn’t believe he had just ruined my favorite Givenchy dress.

The one that had taken me weeks to get my hands on.

But, of course, Angelo Lazzio couldn’t let me have a goddamn thing.

Fine.

If he wanted to play this game, I’d play too.

I reached for the zipper and slid it down. The dress, so perfectly tailored, dropped off my body and pooled around my feet in a whisper of silk.

I kept my eyes on him, savoring the way his gaze darkened—his expression shifting into something I recognized all too well.

Wrath.

I shrugged. “Don’t worry, Lazzio. I hated this dress anyway.”

Now, I stood in nothing but a tight black bra that clung to my breasts like a second skin, and a thong that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

Vittori whistled low.

Lazzio, on the other hand, didn’t bother with subtlety.

A curse escaped from his lips, a string of words I couldn’t quite make out.

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