Page 53 of Sinful Lies

Across from me, the Harper family sat in an uneasy line: Lucius Harper and his wife Francesca, and Scarlett, who swayed between half-drunken stupor and silent rebellion. Next to her was Kiara, their eldest—calm, detached, like she didn’t belong.

At the far end was Uncle Fernando, observing in quiet amusement.

I was placed at the head, my father’s symbolic gesture of passing the reins, though he rarely relinquished control.

I met his gaze, a flicker of curiosity in my frown.

He hardly asked for anything these days.

“What is it?”

He moved closer, scanning the room to make sure everyone was lost in their own conversations. “I need you to check the security systems at one of our Broadway theaters—The Sunflower on 42nd Street,” he murmured. “There’s an actress involved… you’ll see what I mean. I need you to erase the footage, but first, download it to a hard drive and bring it to me.” His lips curled into a dark grin. “It might come in handy later. The Gregs can’t be trusted.”

My mind clouded with confusion. “What do the Gregs have to do with your… actress?”

He shrugged, taking a slow sip of his wine. “James has been having an affair with her, keeping it under wraps. But last night… they had a fight. He went to her trailer to apologize, and they ended up fucking in the elevator. Your security called me to let me know.”

Interesting.

I arched a brow. “Want me to cover this up?”

“I don’t want you to cover it up,” he corrected, his voice low and measured. “I want you to fucking take control. The Gregs have been slipping, and I don’t trust them to keep things in line. This isn’t just about some actress—it’s about power. If we don’t handle this now, it could come back to bite us. Hard.”

The Gregs are meant to be our allies, but we don’t mistake that for loyalty.

When we meet, it’s never just a handshake—everyone’s armed. Knives, guns, whatever they can conceal.

We tolerate each other, pretend to play nice, but the truth hangs in the air: trust is a weakness none of us can afford. We’re all just waiting for the other to make a mistake, so we can strike first and claim what’s ours.

For James Greg—the king of the Greg empire, the man behind the largest oil company in America—to cross into my territory and mess with one of my employees?

That’s not just a threat. It’s a trap.

A trap to see how I’d respond.

Because messing with my employees?

Especially one with long black hair and a body that could make any man drop to his knees? That’s my fucking job. And I don’t like to share.

And I’m sure he had fucked his mistress in that elevator on purpose—just to send a message, to make sure I knew exactly what he was doing and gauge how far I’d go. Or maybe he was so blinded by his own dick he thought I wouldn’t notice, or worse—didn’t care.

But no matter the reason, he had crossed the line.

And my father wanted me to make it clear: this isn’t something we let slide.

I nodded slowly, my gaze drifting to Uncle Lorenzo, his cheeks flushed a deep red—rage mixed with too much wine. I could see the storm brewing, and it wouldn’t be long before he exploded and turned his anger onto his poor wife Luciana.

Before that could happen, I rose, glass in hand, and tapped it sharply with a knife to grab everyone’s attention.

“I have an announcement,” I said. “As you all know?—”

“Oh my god, are you getting married?” Aunt Francesca interrupted, clapping her hands excitedly.

A collective gasp swept across the table.

“No, I?—”

She cut me off again. “But my assistant told me she saw you three nights ago, with a woman with long blonde hair and a cap. Your chauffeur drove her off. I thought you were finally settling down, Angelo. You’re almost forty?—”

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