Page 69 of Sinful Lies

I could barely keep my focus as I turned and left the room, leaving her behind.

Chapter

Sixteen

“Clowns are respectable only in a circus.”

? Tamerlan Kuzgov

Angelo

“Dio mio,Angelo! I asked you to blackmail Greg, not to fucking kill his mistress!”

I leaned back in the chair, the dim lighting flickering, casting shadows over the concrete walls.

This basement meeting room—accessible only through the parking lot—was a place few were allowed. Only family. Only the ones who had earned their place.

Across from me, my father’s jaw was clenched tight. Uncle Fernando sat silently to his right. Vittori leaned back in his chair, his arms folded, flanked by his brothers, who barely made a move. My cousins, Matteo and Richi, sat side by side, expressions unreadable, as always. And the Marvelli brothers, Elio and Aurelio, who had taken their father’s place in the family business after his sudden death last year.

The two brothers were the ones who’d helped me with the mess—carrying the body and setting it up in a suicide position, just to make sure the narrative had fit.

A few well-placed bribes to Doctor Huang and Detective Kingsley, the police chief, had made sure the case was closed before it had even begun.

Vittori grinned and flicked the ash from his cigarette. “I admit,stronzo,that was fucking stupid,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke before offering me a cigarette.

I waved it off, irritation creeping in.

“She gave Greg access to the theater’s bank accounts,” I said, my voice laced with venom. “Both her and the accountant were fucking him, so he had everything right under his nose. That bastard stole ten million from me with their help.”

The room went deadly quiet.

For only a second, though.

Vittori’s wicked laugh filled the air, like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

My father slammed his fist on the table, cursing loudly.

The truth was, the money meant nothing to me. To us.

It was the principle of it, the fucking audacity of it all. Another attack from that low-life, soul-sucking piece of shit, who seemed to think he could play me.

But this time, it was different.

10 million dollars.

He was clearly pushing for a war. The real question was—why?

I knew it wasn’t just because I’d fucked his daughter. That was nothing to him. He had never cared about the women in his family like that.

No, this was something darker. Something more twisted.

Then it fucking hit me.

Boston. Nine years ago.

The Cyrus project.

Or, more accurately, the mess that had almost ruined us… because of him.

---