Page 56 of Sinful Lies

With that, the doors had closed, and Miss Jade Whitenhouse had stepped into Lazzio Exhibits Inc. Like a storm, she’d swept through everything, tearing down and rebuilding in her wake, a force that had both thrilled and tormented me all at once.

Over the years, she’d become a ruthless shark in our treacherous waters.

Anything she wanted, anything sheneeded—it was hers. Suppliers, art, contractors—she’d bent them to her will with nothing more than a smile, and it would all unfold before my eyes, like a twisted magic trick.

She wasn’t just part of the reason Lazzio Exhibits Inc. was as powerful and prestigious as it was. Shewasthe reason. And she knew damn well the grip she had on me andmy fuckingempire.

As painful as it was for my ego, I had to give credit where it was due.

Jade Whitenhouse was one of a kind.

But over the years, she’d never spoken about herself, her family, or anything that wasn’t tied to work.

The only exception? Sex.

She’d made no effort to hide that she was a sexual being, and she didn’t give a single fuck about it. But aside from her sex jokes, innuendos, and business talk, she was an enigma—and I liked it that way.

It was exactly what had made her such an indispensable asset and kept my obsession in line.

The less I knew, the better I could control myself.

So, after more than six years of unwavering devotion to this place, for her to suddenly take a day off? And for afamily emergency? That was fucking odd.

“Did she tell you what kind of emergency that was?”

Grace scoffed, the frustration clear in her voice. “As if this devil would have the decency to explain. She just sent me an email this morning—‘Family emergency. Taking the day off.’ No explanation. Nothing. I can’t stand her?—”

“Grazie, Grace.”

For years, the two of them had been locked in a silent war, waging petty, calculated attacks with all the subtlety of an open battlefield.

One would spill coffee on the other’s desk; the other would toss her lunch in the trash. They’d sabotage each other’s phones, swipe sunglasses—anything they could to get under each other’s skin.

I’d stopped keeping track of their little skirmishes long ago.

They were like cats and dogs—fiercely loathing each other, but smart enough to disguise it with fake pleasantries and snarky jabs, always one step ahead in their passive-aggressive games.

And I was smart enough to never get in between.

“James Greg? Can’t believe his dick can still get hard,” Vittori laughed.

I grimaced, raising my glass to my lips. “Don’t even fucking remind me. That image is scarred into my brain for life.”

“And with a twenty-five year old?” He shook his head, a dark smirk twisting his lips. “You assholes aren’t paying the poor girl enough—she’s stuck fucking a prehistoric corpse now, because of you.”

We were seated in the dimly lit corner ofLa Piadina, Vittori’s pride and joy.

The place had that authentic, rustic Italian charm—the kind that made you feel like you were a guest in some old Roman villa rather than a trendy Manhattan restaurant.

But behind the thick walls of Tuscany wine and fresh pasta, he cleaned his money, laundered through every dish served.

The lasagna arrived, served in the same traditional ceramic dishes that seemed as old as the restaurant itself. The layers of pasta, thick with ricotta and rich Bolognese, steam rising from the edges, made my stomach growl in anticipation.

I cut into it, the cheese pulling apart in perfect strands as I brought the first bite to my mouth.

“Nah. She’s not fucking him for money. It’s something else.”

Vittori raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What else?”

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