Page 46 of Sinful Lies

But clearly, I had underestimated just how stupid men could be.

I downed the rest of my margarita in one go.

Placing the empty glass on the bar, I winked at the bartender, signaling for another. He nodded, already pouring, and I leaned back on the stool, crossing my legs as I let my eyes drift over the crowd.

People swayed, stumbled, and collided in a chaotic dance of hormones and bad decisions. Some were making out like it was their last night on earth; others seemed a few seconds away from throwing punches.

Directly in front of me, a girl danced with a boy, his hands gripping her hips as her head tilted back onto his shoulder. They moved to the beat of a Spanish song I couldn’t name if my life depended on it. She ground against him with enough fervor to make the room sweat, and whatever he whispered in her ear hadher blushing and giggling before she grabbed his hand and led him off into the crowd.

I sighed, turning back to my freshly served margarita.

The bartender had even added a little umbrella—cute, but utterly impractical. I flicked it aside, taking a long sip, relishing the tangy sweetness.

At least the drinks didn’t disappoint tonight.

My nail tapped against the bare skin of my thigh, keeping time with the rhythmic beat, my eyes lazily drifting across the room.

Then, a loudpopshattered the air.

The first scream was a spark, setting off an eruption of panic. People scrambled in every direction, chairs overturned, and drinks spilled as more shots followed, each one cutting through the music like a jagged knife.

I sighed again, gripping my margarita.

Navigating the stampede wasn’t easy, but I managed, dodging flailing arms and spilled liquor. My heels clacked sharply as I descended the stairs, weaving past the chaos just as armed men stormed up toward the mayhem above.

The basement was quieter, the muffled sound of screams and gunfire fading into the background as I made my way down a narrow hallway.

Reaching the last door, I pushed it open.

They didn’t even glance up from their card game.

I dropped onto the sofa, still holding my margarita. “I don’t know if this is one of your kinks, Vittori, but for the love of God, put better security in your fucking club. Your place always attracts weirdos far too comfortable with a gun. I came here to party, not to dodge bullets.”

Leonardo Vittori leaned back in his chair, his green eyes flicking to me with an expression that managed to be both bored and vaguely amused.

Head of the Sacra Corona, he’s nicknamedil senza cuore, the heartless one. He earned the title after killing his first victim with a dagger straight to the heart, twisting it until the organ fell from the body.

Cute, I guess.

We have a twisted little arrangement, and somehow he’d become a friend—if you could call it that.

I could waltz into his clubs, his restaurants, and his lounges without ever dropping a penny—as long as I listened to his never-ending soap opera of women falling into his bed and the filthy things he did to them.

A fair trade, if you ask me.

“Get your feet off my fucking table.”

I rolled my eyes, deliberately tapping the toe of my heel against the polished sparkly wood. “Relax, Vittori. It’s not like it’s made of gold.”

Marco, his youngest brother, sat slouched over his cards, looking like he could barely be bothered to play. Enzo, the middle one, leaned back with that half-smirk of his.

The empty seat in front of them was an unspoken invitation, but I couldn’t help but frown at it.

Something felt off tonight.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but my gut was telling me this wasn’t just another ordinary night with them.

I didn’t even have time to say anything before the door opened andhisgaze settled on the back of my neck, the hairs on my arms rising in warning. I took a long sip of my margarita, the sweetness now replaced with a bitter edge—as if the universe had decided to fuck with me on a whole new level.

---