Page 216 of Sinful Lies

The way his eyes would always,alwaystrack me, dark and heavy, as if I’d disappear if he blinked too long. And let’s not forget how his voice, usually sharp enough to cut, would soften to a dangerous murmur whenever he spoke to me.

Warmth bloomed in my chest—along with the faint, smug satisfaction of knowing Angelo Lazzio was mine. Completely, obsessively,irrevocablymine.

And honestly? I loved every second of it.

He made me feel cared for in ways I hadn’t known I needed. He’d sit and listen to me rant about my failed nail appointment, the six-inch heels that had turned my feet into torture devices, or the hour-long saga of blow-drying my hair. And then, instead of rolling his eyes, he’d grab the blow dryer himself. Angelo Lazzio—the man who could crush empires—blow-drying my hair, without a single complaint.

When he had to leave for work, I’d poke and prod at him the whole day just to hear his exasperated laugh. But he never snapped, not anymore. Now, he’d just look at me with that dark amusement in his eyes, lips curving into a wicked smirk,before pulling me in for a kiss that stole my breath—and left me wondering how I had survived his absence at all.

By the end of March, he suggested we move in together.

I’d frozen at first, my fear of the unknown gripping me. But Angelo, ever the persuasive devil, had whispered in my ear all thewayshe’d make the experience worthwhile. His tongue on my skin had been surprisingly convincing.

So I caved.

Three weeks in, and I was even more in love—with him, with this, with everything. I loved how his scent filled every corner of the space, how my things now mingled with his, and how he was never more than a room away.

I was hopelessly, recklessly,irredeemablyin love with him.

And, as terrifying as it was, it was also the most freeing thing I’d ever felt.

We’d gotten even closer as I started opening up about everything—my past, my family, my dreams, and even the messy parts I usually kept locked away. I told him about my days of chasing highs that always ended in lows, about every mistake I ever made, every regret that kept me up at night.

And Angelo? He had never judged me. Not once.

On the contrary, he’d leaned in, fascinated, like I was a puzzle he couldn’t wait to piece together. Every detail had seemed to make him want to know more, like peeling back another layer of me was his favorite pastime.

He had opened up too, sharing bits of his childhood—Italian summers spent devouring gelato, strolling through the cobblestone streets of Positano and Florence, and baking cakes with hisnonna.

His voice would soften when he talked about her, and I couldn’t help but picture a tiny Angelo, cheeks dusted with flour, proudly holding up a cake.

A few days into living together, he told me his mama wanted to keep Georgino, his little fluffball of a dog, with her because she needed the company.

Now, I’d never been a dog person—had never had one, never planned to—but Georgino was different.

The so-called “monster” was actually a saint wrapped in fur. Sweet, quiet, well-behaved… and yet, I’ll admit it: I wasjealous.

Yes, jealous. Of adog.

Because Angelo gave himso much attention.

He’d pet him, talk to him, look at him like he was the center of the universe. Meanwhile, I would stand there like, “Hello? The love of your life is standing right here. Petme.”

So when his mama asked to take Georgino, I thought it was a genius idea.

Angelo, of course, was annoyed at first, muttering something about “family obligations” and how his mama hadplentyof company already. But it didn’t take him long to realize the setup was perfect.

Turns out, his mama started bringing Georgino to work every day, so Angelo could still see his precious angel without the dog hogging all his attention at home.

And me? I had my manallto myself.

Win-win.

I also started seeing Dr. Morano again. Angelo insisted it would help me handle the grief better, and, well, after a heartfelt little reunion, the doc and I had decided on weekly two-hour calls.

I hated to admit it, but he had been right. It was helping. More than I’d like to admit.

He stopped me abruptly, his hands gripping my hips, as his hot breath skimmed the back of my neck.

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