Page 77 of Sinful Lies

I’d clearly hit a nerve.

“Yeah,” he said, rising to his feet. “Never thought a bright little thing like her would take the easy way out. Suicide’s a hell of a thing.”

“Guess it’s a quick fix for a permanent mess.”

His eyes hardened, the cocky mask slipping for a second, replaced by something darker. “Yeah. I suppose so, Lazzio.”

He turned and walked to the door. As his hand hovered over the handle, he paused, glancing back at me with that smug grin that made me want to punch his ugly face.

“See you on Friday, right?”

Friday. Thanksgiving in Aspen, same predictable shit every year—Lazzios, Harpers, Gregs having a weekend getaway all together.

But I could feel it, deep in my gut.

This year wasn’t going to be like the others.

James Greg wasn’t here for small talk. He was playing something far uglier.

“See you on Friday, Greg.”

Grace slipped into the room after three soft knocks, and I waved her in, my phone still pressed to my ear.

“È venuto nel mio ufficio con le condoglianze per Pauline. Non ci credo nemmeno per un secondo—sta tramando qualcosa,” I muttered, keeping my tone low, even though Grace wouldn’t catch a word of Italian if her life depended on it.

After all these years, her fluency stopped atbuongiorno,ciao, andgrazie.

Vittori’s laugh rumbled through the line. “Gotta hand it to him—the old bastard’s still got balls.”

Still seated on the couch, I watched as she hurriedly cleaned the coffee table, her movements frantic. Her brow furrowed so deeply it was practically carved into her face, and she was moving so fast she nearly dropped one of the cups.

What the hell’s wrong with her today?

“Devo andare,” I muttered, before hanging up.

She didn’t meet my eyes as she crouched to grab a spoon that had slipped from her tray.

“Grace—”

“Please, be careful, sir.”

I raised a brow. “Careful?”

She didn’t know a thing about the shit James Greg had stirred up, or the black cloud hanging over Pauline’s death.

She couldn’t.

But this wasn’t about Greg walking out of my office.

No, there was something else buried in her tone—something far more personal.

Suddenly, she shook her head, like she was trying to clear something from her mind. She walked toward the door, her steps quick, as if fleeing the words she’d just spoken.

“Grace.”

She stopped, her hands tightening on the tray.

After a long pause, she finally turned around.

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