Page 189 of Sinful Lies

“Shhh,” he murmured, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

His hand moved in slow, soothing circles on my back.

But I didn’t want comfort.

Not from him.

I tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened, his fingers steady as they found my chin. He tilted my face up, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“Jade, I’m not the one who put those mines there.”

“Stop lying, Angelo!” My voice was raw, shaking as I shoved against his chest. “I’ve spent six years digging through your dirt, six years tearing my life apart to find proof. And I did. Emails, texts, contracts—everything.” My breath hitched. “So don’t stand there and tell me you didn’t do it.”

His thumb dragged across my cheek, wiping away a tear.

“Jade,” he murmured. “I’m not claiming to be innocent. God knows I’m not. I’ve done things you can’t even begin to imagine. But I’ll tell you this—I didn’t put those fucking mines there. You can hate me, you can shoot me, you can burn my entire goddamned world to ash, but don’t accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

His hand cupped my face, his fingers warm against my skin, his grip unrelenting as he forced me to meet his eyes.

They were dark, heavy, not with anger, but something far deeper, something raw, something that seemed to tear at him just as much as it was tearing at me.

“You want revenge?” he murmured. “I can help you get it,amore.”

My heart hammered against my chest, my head spinning.

I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to hope, not like this—not after everything, but the possibility that he might be innocent… it gnawed at me.

“How?”

“I know who did it, Jade. And I’ll give you everything you need to make him bleed. But only if you trust me.”

I shook my head, confusion clouding every thought, but there wasn’t time to process it.

Just as I opened my mouth, the front door burst open, slamming against the wall. Four FBI agents stormed in, guns raised, red lasers slicing through my apartment as shouts filled the air.

“Angelo Lazzio, you’re under arrest for the murder of Pauline Dupont.”

Angelo barely reacted.

Instead, he turned to me, his hands threading into my hair, his lips finding mine in a kiss that stole the air from my lungs.

Before I could even register it, he pulled away, his fingers brushing down my neck.

One last glance—cold, unreadable—and then he walked out, calm as ever, following them.

The door slammed shut, and my hands flew to my neck.

Gone.

He had taken my necklace.

Chapter

Forty-Two

“Sometimes, we have to say goodbye to the love we wish could stay forever.”

?Manisha Manjari

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