Page 52 of Sinful Lies

“Shut up,stronzo.”

I hung up a bit later and headed to the bathroom, ready to wash off the day and grab a few hours of sleep before Monday’s chaos stormed into my office—decked out in sky-high Louboutins, with fire blazing from her mouth.

“When you said you’d tear down the museum and make it something majestic, I almost believed you’d pull off something worth looking at. But red tiles? That’s the big vision? I shouldn’t be surprised—mediocrity’s kind of your brand, Lazzio.”

I instructed the movers to haul the packages up to the third floor. One of them handed me a clipboard and a pen, clearly eager to wrap this up and get out of here.

I glanced at the paper, scrawling my name with a quick swipe.

“Make sure you don’t leave any scratches on the floors,” I said, barely looking up.

They nodded and got to work.

“The red tiles are for the third floor, Miss Whitenhouse. It’s supposed to represent battlefields—red-veined marble from Greece to echo blood on stone, surrounded by sculptures and paintings of real warriors.”

I walked toward my office, feeling her trailing in my shadow.

Just before the door, I stopped and turned to meet her pretty gaze.

“Don’teverquestion my taste again. You, of all people, know that greatness is my only standard.”

I shut the door firmly, the sound echoing through the room as I made my way to the chair behind my desk. The leathercreaked as I settled in, surveying the stacks of paperwork and blueprints sprawled across the polished wood.

I leaned back, fingers steepled as I took a slow breath.

Jade Whitenhouse existed for one reason: to ruin my peace of mind, and keep me tethered to the edge of insanity.

The thirty-year-old stood at five foot eight, her raven-black hair spilling over her shoulders like sin itself, with eyes so dark they seemed to steal the light from the room. Her skin—pale enough to rival Morticia Addams—had an unsettling allure that was both chilling and impossible to ignore.

I should’ve fired her years ago.

Sure, her work was absolutely flawless—on paper, she was the perfect COO. But that sharp tongue of hers? It chipped away at any shred of respect she managed to earn.

And yet, despite my better judgment, I couldn’t get her out of my head.

No matter how hard I tried, my mind had decided that of all the things to fixate on, it had to be her.

More than that, she also carried one of my secrets—a sinful one.

Not big enough to dismantle my empire, but just dangerous enough to threaten my standing in the Lazzio family. One wrong move, and she could knock me down a rung I’d spent years clawing my way up to reach.

So, for now, she stayed—much to my fucking irritation.

Chapter

Thirteen

“Go to heaven for the climate and hell for the company.”

? Benjamin Franklin Wade

Angelo

“I need you to do something for me,mio figlio.”

The butler poured me another glass of chilled white wine as I savored the pasta alle vongole. The rich flavors of garlic and lemon burst on my tongue, mingling with the salty flavor of the clams.

The table stretched out like a display of forced camaraderie—all smiles and polite laughter, masking the simmering tension beneath. My parents sat to my right, with Uncle Lorenzo and his wife, Luciana, beside them.

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