Page 97 of Sinful Lies

I froze.

My heart slammed in my chest.

As I sank deeper into the abyss, my breath turning shallow and desperate, I heard five rough words whispered into my ear.

“Sei al sicuro ora, amore.”

Then everything went dark—nothing but darkness, as if the world itself had decided to swallow me whole.

I cracked my eyes open, surprised at how heavy they felt. The faint sunlight crept in, brushing against my skin.

Those damn curtains again?

What’s the point of being a billionaire if you can’t even splurge on proper blackout curtains, James stupid Greg?

I tried to sit up, but pain shot through my head—high and brutal. I winced, bringing my hand to my forehead, and immediately noticed the bandage wrapped around it.

My eyes scanned the room, expectingLa Belle Nuit’s usual over-the-top Marie Antoinette decor, but instead, I was met with… something else.

The room was spacious, modern, with dark hues and deep green accents, and creamy, fluffy covers. Matte black tiles lined the floor, and the walls were adorned with a huge abstractpainting by Helen Frankenthaler—green, velvety tones that matched the oppressive mood in the room.

Where the hell was I?

My eyes flicked to the nightstand beside me, where my phone sat next to a glass of orange juice, a cold bottle of Fiji water, two aspirins, and—oh, a vanilla cookie topped with blueberry buttercream frosting from Bagels & Jo.

My mouth felt dry as hell, like I’d been chewing on cotton. I grabbed the bottle of water and slammed it back in one go, barely giving myself a second to breathe. My head throbbed, like a drumbeat behind my eyes. I pressed my hand to my forehead, hoping the aspirin would take the edge off.

The orange juice was calling my name, so I took a few sips, the sweet, fresh taste sliding down my throat, hitting just right.

Then, I grabbed the note.

Drink.

I frowned, recognizing Lazzio’s handwriting.

Then it hit me.

I was in Lazzio’s apartment. In his bed. His scent hit me, as if to confirm my theory, and I couldn’t help but pull the covers tighter, inhaling deeply.

Yep, unmistakably his. No question about it.

Wait.

I looked down at my body, a flash of panic hitting me. Please tell me we didn’t…

But nope, still in my green thong, no bra, and a long, black Fendi T-shirt—definitely his.

I grabbed the cookie and took a bite, hoping the sweetness would calm my headache and the weird disappointment gnawing at me—that I hadn’t had sex with Lazzio.

Okay, no. No! I was seriously lying to myself.

Why the hell would I be disappointed about not having sex with that murderous asshole?

That must be this damn headache talking.

I touched the bandage around my head again, frowning.

What had happened to me?

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