Page 61 of Sinner's Vows

I want this. I need this. I needhim.

It’s been twelve years of being a nomad in my own body, wandering and not finding a resting place that fits. And now, here’s this man. The only one in the world who seems to get me, and he comes with a raging red flag.

He’s from the wrong side. The enemy. The hunted.

“Why did he—” I break off, not even knowing how to ask this and if he’d even know whether there was a reasoning behind all this madness. What Franco did to me makes more sense in a way, because that type of violence is the go-to for men when it comes to women. But this—a father and his sons.

I lean back slightly so I can look into his eyes, and when I do, he has the softest, the most caring look in them I’ve ever seen on a man.

“Why did the Don single you out for this…this training…this duty?” My voice wants to break on the words, because the level of evil to plot a role like this for each of your children is unfathomable.

Dominic eases away from me, his hand slipping out of my sleep shorts. He squeezes my hip and settles back. Immediately, I regret making him pull away because in my gut, I know this part is probably going to be the worst if he has a ready answer for it.

“I pissed him off when I was five.” He shoots me a wry little smile. “Told him that one day, I wanted to become a cop and take out bad guys.”

A shudder traipses down my spine. We’ve so many things in common.You’ll know what they’ll do to you once they’ve figured you out.

“I was just a boy with dreams like any other boy to do something big and important, like be a fireman or a pilot or something. At that age, I didn’t quite get it thatwewere the bad guys.”

“You were five?” I repeat, stunned.

“Yep. From that day on, he was on a mission to play good cop, bad cop with me whenever he could. He made it his personal quest to show me how fucked-up the police force is, how corrupt and full of weak men that make them fail. He made me watch, and later, he made me assist, forcing me to cross lines no kid should cross.”

I close my eyes, the visual too much to stomach.

When I look at him again, he’s shaking his head.

“Look at me now. In my early thirties, with the Don dead, but I’m still dancing the steps he taught me as if I can’t do anything else.” He sighs, and it’s as if he spills his soul into it. “I thought once he’s dead, I’d have a choice, but I don’t. And it’s fine. I don’t want my brothers to do what I do, and someone has to.”

He cups my cheek, his hand warm with the subtle scent of chlorine from the pool, making me look up at him.

“You know what we are, sweetheart. You’ve seen it firsthand in that warehouse. You’re from this world and know how it works. It’s us or them. And by them, I don’t mean the police and their corrupt backstabbing, two steps back for every one forward. It’s us or other Mafia, or the Bratva, the cartels infiltrating from the south. I need to keep my brothers safe from all of these factions, and well, I do what I need to do.”

“You were only five,” I whisper, knowing I’m helpless in so many ways. I’ve seen this play out in my own life, until I ran away from Franco and my foster home.

“The Don played a long game, and somehow, I got what I wanted. I take out the bad guys that threaten my family and our organization.”

“Have you ever taken out a cop?” My question hangs heavy in a weighted silence that stretches and stretches as he thinks.

“Not to my knowledge, but I will if I have to. And I won’t leave a trace.”

I’m suddenly chilled to my bones. I’m already missing without a trace. I bet my team presumes I’m dead.

He lets go of me with a sigh, stands, and holds out a hand to help me up. I take it, finding comfort in his touch but also noting the strength of his hand, his veined forearm muscles and biceps, how his stomach contracts and highlights his six-pack as he helps me up, all movements which underscore the ease with which he’ll be able to eliminate me if he wanted to. He’s tall, too, and overpowering me would be the easiest thing on this planet…except he doesn’t want to.

Fear doesn’t swamp my body as it should because nothing Dominic has done has warranted this reaction from me yet. I’ve never felt safer around a man, but it’s as if I’m under a spell. My mind yells at me to tread carefully, to watch my step. And get out of here as soon as I can.

Dominic is one of five brothers in a much bigger machine I’m still trying to figure out. An outlier in a lot of ways, but he’ll do exactly what Franco wanted to do once he’s figured me out.

He lets go of my hand and walks over to a lounger where he’s stripped off his training clothes. He swam in black swimming trunks, which are still wet and dripping water. He roughly dries with a towel, puts on his sweat-stained T-shirt to hide everything his dad did to him from the world, and picks up his sneakers.

As I watch him, I close my robe again. My fingers are white with cold and stupid, slow to perform a simple task. It’s shock and dread of what would become of me if I don’t make it back to Italy, my secrets intact.

“Come on.” He has me by the elbow and steers me to the sliding door. “I need to get to Matteo’s place. I’d take you with, but I need you to work with Portia on something for me.”

He lets go of me as soon as he’s closed the sliding door and leads the way to the kitchen. We walk abreast, Dominic acknowledging the security detail stationed in strategic corners. The heavenly smell of coffee and something frying fills the corridor.

“Portia is Italian like nobody else, but she loves an American fry-up for breakfast. You’re hungry?”

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