Page 91 of Sinful Lies

Why?

Monica reached into her purse, fumbling as she pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes. “The only thing left from that time are the scars on his back. Just a few, but… deep. And he’s never explained how he got them. Never.”

Scars.

My throat tightened.

Angelo Lazzio, the untouchable kingpin, carrying scars no one dared to ask about.

For a moment, I just stared at her.

The guilt she must carry as a mother—it had to be crushing. To have looked away for just a few minutes and lost her son.To have spent those fourteen days picturing every unthinkable horror, only to get him back as a silent, shattered version of the boy she’d known.

And just like that, Monica Lazzio had given me exactly what I needed—served it up on a silver platter.

The perfect way to shatter Angelo Lazzio.

“You’re not coming. End of discussion.”

I rolled my eyes, crossing my legs as the mattress dipped under me.

He yanked off his shirt, and my irritation took a quick detour south. My gaze, uninvited, traced the sharp lines of his chest, those unfairly sculpted abs, and the faint trail of dark hair leading down into the waistband of his double-lined pants.

Without a word, he gestured toward the bed.

I handed him his jumper, but not before inhaling it deeply. “Mmm,” I hummed, stepping closer.

His eyes narrowed, dark and burning, as he snatched the fabric from my hands. He slipped it on, the movement quick, but his eyes still locked with mine.

“I promise I won’t annoy you,” I said, tilting my head, lips curling into a sweet, innocent smile. “Not a word, not a peep. I’ll be like your shadow.”

He sighed, grabbing a belt and threading it through the loops of his pants. That belt buckle gleamed—fuck, it would definitely haunt my dreams tonight.

“Hunting isn’t a safe space for a woman like you, Miss Whitenhouse. I wouldn’t want your Louboutins to get dirty.”

I took a step toward him, fingers tangling in his hair as I yanked his head back.

His breath caught for a second.

“Oh, I can get dirty,” I whispered, my thumb tracing the line of his jaw. My fingers slid down, cupping his face as I leaned in, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “Wanna find out?”

He shoved me back hard, and I ended up sprawled across the bed, bouncing once like a ragdoll.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

A deep, breathless chuckle that came straight from the dark, twisted part of me.

He glared down at me. “You’re seriously twisted.”

You know what?

Iwasfeeling twisted, and in a reckless mood, and those two never really got together—never reallyfittogether—without me itching to play with fire.

“Oh, boss,” I whispered, slowly crawling forward. “I think what’s really missing in your life is a bit of fun. A little sinful adventure.”

I yanked the hem of my jumper up, the fabric dragging over my skin as I felt his eyes scorch me. The sparkly emerald bra clung to my chest—tight, teasing, daring him to look closer.

I watched his jaw tighten, that small twitch of irritation in his eyes.

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