Page 65 of Sinful Lies

I sipped my wine, savoring the taste as I watched him from my private little theater of his life.

What could possibly be eating at him?

Just then, a figure emerged from the darkness—a woman.

Tall, red-haired, dressed in what looked like a 17th-century costume, her face painted white with bloodred lips. An actress.

She was frantic, her shoulders shaking, hands flailing as she spoke, her words lost to the silence of the feed.

Lazzio stood there like a stone, towering over her. His expression was unreadable, jaw clenched so tight I could almost hear his teeth grind through the screen.

I zoomed in, trying to get a better look at her face.

Pauline Dupont. His prized actress.

Was she another one of his mistresses?

I frowned.

No, she didn’t fit his usual pattern. She looked too… unhinged, too desperate.

I took another sip of my wine, my eyes fixed on Lazzio, as if I could pierce through his skull and read his thoughts.

What the hell was going on in that alley, Lazzio?

Before I could blink, the scene on the screen took a turn so shocking, my fingers slipped, and my wine glass shattered against the floor, red liquid splashing like blood on the velvet.

The actress, her face twisted in terror, screamed something at him.

In response, Lazzio grabbed her chin, his thumb stroking her jaw in a mockery of tenderness. He leaned in, whispering words that made her eyes bulge with fear.

Then, without warning, he pulled a gun from his coat and shot her point-blank between the eyes. Her body crumpled to the ground, blood splattering across his face like a twisted artist’s canvas.

A silent scream wrenched out of me, my hand clasped over my mouth, too terrified to even breathe, as if he could somehow sense my presence through the screen.

He calmly wiped a speck of blood from his cheek, then turned—just slightly—toward the camera.

His eyes locked onto the lens, as if he knew someone was watching.

And then—static.

The screen crackled, then turned black.

Someone had just cut the feed.

I stared at the blank monitor, heart pounding, unable to move.

I had just witnessed amurder.

I sat there, paralyzed by the dark satisfaction that gnawed at my insides. Angelo Lazzio had just handed me the final weapon I needed.

The perfect moment of weakness. The final piece to destroy him.

And yet, something in me felt cold—emptier than before.

Was I really ready to pull this trigger?

I stood up, my legs shaky, my thoughts fragmented.

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