Page 28 of Sinful Lies

Then, I heard my name.

The officer who said it—a small blonde with a high ponytail and green eyes—looked up. Her expression shifted when she saw him. She smiled, her fingers brushing the ends of her ponytail as she adjusted her posture.

Tall, broad shoulders, dark hair.

Honey and dark wood draped in silk sheets.

Angelo Lazzio.

He didn’t need to turn around. I’d have recognized his back anywhere.

My name fell from his lips and the blondie nodded, responding softly, her cheeks coloring as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

He didn’t even look at her.

Everyone else, though? They couldn’t stop looking. The entire room seemed to lean in his direction, like he was the answer to a question they hadn’t realized they’d asked. Admiration, lust, envy—you name it, it was written all over their faces.

Lazzio didn’t notice—or if he did, he didn’t care.

He turned around, and his eyes locked onto mine. Cold. Calculated. Not a flicker of warmth, which honestly felt about right.

His jaw ticked, and he started toward me, blondie by his side.

I stretched lazily. “Well, this should be fun.”

The cell door opened with a beep, the sound loud enough to make me wince. He stepped inside, his eyes dropping immediately to my feet. His lips tugged downward—barely a frown, just enough to indicate he’d noticed.

“Come on.”

I pushed off the bench, brushing off my dress that was now sticky.

As I passed Cheryl, she barely glanced at me. Her gaze was glued to Lazzio like he was the eighth wonder of the world.

“Goodbye, Cheryl,” I said, tossing her a little wave. “He’s gonna help you get out too, don’t worry.”

She didn’t even blink.

If I hadn’t been so annoyed, I might’ve found it funny.

Standing next to him, barefoot, I suddenly felt this weird nervous energy creeping up on me.

I quickly pushed past the officers—whose whispers followed me—eyes still locked on Lazzio, and made my way out.

I blew the smoke out, fingers tight on the cigarette, freezing my ass off while waiting for whatever Lazzio was doing inside.

A cop stood off to the side, puffing away by himself, looking like he was lost in a deep, soul-crushing moment. I had figured, why not? Might as well ask.

I had asked if I could bum a smoke, and he’d just shrugged, tossing me his pack without saying a word.

I’d lit up and stuck the cigarette between my lips, but he had kept his eyes trained on the cars rolling by, acting like I wasn’t even there. It was almost like I had intruded on some sacred self-reflection moment, so I took the hint and stepped back, leaving him alone.

Finally, Lazzio emerged from the station, and I could feel his eyes scanning the lot until they found me.

The second our gazes met, the air shifted—dark, stormy.

He stalked over, snatched the cigarette from my lips without a word, and crushed it underfoot.

He didn’t even glance back as he turned on his heel, heading toward a black SUV, its hazard lights flickering in the night.

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