Page 44 of Sinner's Vows

“Sure.” I get up and pull two chilled waters from the fridge, keeping my eyes on her, but she’s dropped her gaze to her plate and is thumbing a paper napkin as if she has food on her hand that won’t come off.

“Here.” I uncap a bottle and hold it out to her.

“Thanks.” She takes a deep sip and as she puts the bottle down adds, “Except for money, he wasn’t in the picture much. He’s dead in any case, so…”

So… Nice. She’s pulling one of my own on me by letting that hang. I bet it was deliberate.

Mom dead. Dad dead. Already in Franco’s uncle’s care. Antonio Mancuso. Now I remember. He’s one of Randazzo’s henchman if I recall correctly when Benedict scoured the dark net for anything he could find out about Franco. From her birth, this woman was on the slippery slide into prostitution. So why the blush earlier, then? Why did she cower when I stood in the room and came two steps closer, in the most non-threatening way I, with my size, could muster?

And why the fuck is she counting the number of knives on the knife block on the other side of the kitchen?

I know better than to believe anything she says to me, especially when it all comes out without a glitch.

Oh, sweetheart, we been paired up at birth already to dance this little tango. I can’t wait to figure out what game you are playing, and what your next move is going to be.

Except I don’t have the time or the patience for fun and games.

Time to test this little one.

23

DOMINIC

I drop my interrogation for now, and we finish up eating mostly in silence, except for Ariana complimenting the food. She chose all the high-protein elements of the spread—ate through a man-sized beef tenderloin and then picked out all the chicken in some Thai green curry. This little one is eating for strength.

“I should’ve opened some wine for us,” I say, trying to shrink the quiet while planning my next move.

“I don’t drink, not when I’m—” She breaks off and shrugs. “Thank you for the offer all the same.”

Not when I’m… pregnant? On the run? On a job?

“An Italian who doesn’t drink wine?” I say with a chuckle, ignoring her slip of the tongue.

“Not when I’m held captive,” she says, and her gaze locks with mine, her brow cocked in a dare.

“Captive is a strong word.” I can show her what captive really means if she wants. The guards did hose down those basement cages, and they’re ready for fresh occupants.

“Maybe, but I don’t want to get into a situation where I’m not fully there, if you know what I mean.”

“Fair enough.” I stand and take her empty plate. She stands, too. “No, I’ll do it. You stay put.”

She sits again and helps instead by closing the various containers. We’ve made a dent in the food, but there’s enough left over for another day. She sits and watches me as I pack everything away and put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

“Don’t you have help here? This house, the estate, looks like it needs a team of at least ten people full-time to run it.”

“Portia’s coming tomorrow.”Il Consiglioworks on a need-to-know basis, and as much as Ariana could be family and is Mafia in some way or another, she’s still an unknown entity and has already seen too much. I go over to the side counter where Portia left several bags of clothes and other things for her. “She brought this for you earlier.”

I put the bags on the counter, and she peeks inside.

“Oh… Thank you. It’s everything I need. It’s more than I need—” She closes the bags with a sigh. “Thank you for this. It wasn’t necessary.”

“You were running around in a hospital gown, sweetheart. I think it was necessary.” I gave Portia carte blanche to buy as she saw fit; she’s after all a mom with a daughter, and knows what a woman like Ariana would need. “And you’re welcome. It’s nothing really.”

The bags are from a big supermarket chain, not where I’d shop for myself, my sister, or a wife, and definitely not where Matteo and Steph shopped for Tasha and Gigi, but it’s better than nothing. I’d hate for Ariana to feel uncomfortable here because she’s got nothing decent to wear.

The way Matteo plucked Tasha out of the pool at her own home and had her standing there in front of us in only her skimpy bikini still gives me the ick. Then again, my brother doesn’t have first-hand knowledge of experiencing something insomeone else’s shoes. To each their own. Matteo has his own cross to bear. “How’re you feeling?”

“Still tired, but I won’t be able to sleep now. Not with the nap I had.”

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