Page 79 of Sinner's Vows

No, they’re not. Not getting answers is ten times worse. But the worst is getting the answer you don’t want. The answer that breaks the world. The answer that’s going to break us. I can sense it hovering around us, waiting to shatter our bubble. I don’t want to know what comes next.

“I’m so scared that it will hurt…like the first time,” she whispers then, shrinking in her chair, curling into herself as if the memory of that night has strings attached to every part ofher body, her heart, her soul, and it pulls tight towards where Franco hurt her the most.

How broken are we?I recall her question, and it shreds me afresh.

“I know, sweetheart. And that’s what we work on.” I brush a knuckle along her arm. She isn’t the first woman who has shared these fears with me. And fuck knows what I’m thinking, but it’s as if we’re negotiating already. “I know pain. I know pleasure. I only go where you let me in, sweetheart, and we test those limits slowly.”

“And you’ll never hurt me?”

I push my plate to the side. “There’s no pleasure for me in pain. Least of all yours. You know I’ll never hurt you.”

42

DOMINIC

It’s been quiet for a long time as she just sits and pokes at her pasta. Maybe she’s lost her appetite. Maybe she’s had enough. Maybe she’s digesting our conversation and has more questions but doesn’t know how to ask them.

“What do I do with you now, sweetheart?” I murmur, knowing I need to separate myself from her, even if I now have this engulfing need to hold her close, stroke her hair, kiss her languidly as if time is standing still, and have her fall asleep in my arms.

Aftercare. That’s what I want. That’s what she needs.

Fuck. That’s whatIneed.

And it’s the other thing I don’t indulge in because it forms a strong emotional bond that doesn’t match my rationale. We haven’t done anything, but it’s as if she’s opened all her little doll house windows and allowed me a peek into her inner world, right inside those secret rooms which hold her fears and desires.

When my phone rings in my jacket pocket where I left it on a side counter, I heave a sigh in equal measures of relief and annoyance. It’s for the better, though, to have the outside world come in. Right now, both of us have to get our mindsoff everything that happened in this kitchen—and everything that didn’t happen…and what we both still want. There’s no misunderstanding this part.

“I’ll clean the kitchen,” Ariana says as she waves towards the mess we made cooking, and I nod as I stride over to my discarded jacket and answer the call.

“Matteo?”

“What are you up to?” he asks without preamble.

“Just had dinner. Give me a sec.” I lean into the corridor and call a guard over to come watch over Ariana while I take his call.

On purpose, I take her half-filled glass of wine by the stem in passing. I make as if it’s mine, as if I plan to finish it off while talking to Matteo, and hope she won’t notice. She doesn’t notice, but gets the drift as the guard walks in and rolls her eyes at me.

Yes, there’s trust between us, and promises, but the knife block is right there, and she hasn’t alleviated any of my suspicions yet. In fact, she’s only made the pile bigger.

“What’s up, Matty?” I ask, walking to a lounge where there’ll be some privacy. Portia must have thrown caution to the wind, because all the doors that were closed when Ariana arrived now stand open.

“Tasha’s been begging me to bring her and Gigi to see Ariana. Add Carla into the mix, and I’m outnumbered and cornered.”

He sounds a bit harassed.

“Your calvary has you with your back against the wall?” I joke with a chuckle, but the last thing I need is these women warming up to Ariana while everything is still in the balance.

“I don’t want any of them to come to the Don’s house,” Matteo says. “That isn’t happening.”

“And I’m not letting Ariana off these premises, either,” I retaliate. “Not until we have some answers. It’s the safest place we have bar your apartment?—”

“Fair enough,” he cuts me off. “It isn’t going to happen then, because the Trapanis are leaving for Italy. If Ariana comes here, Tasha will only convince me to let her stay?—”

“And you only want to fuck your wife on every surface you have in that apartment without an audience. I get it.” I really do. Fuck. I rake a hand through my hair, cussing inwardly.

“Good. We understand each other. How are things going there?” he asks as I start pacing the room as if I have a nervous fucking tic. Which I have. It’s called Ariana Morelli. “Did Portia unearth anything?”

“I don’t know. Something’s off, and I can’t put my finger on it.”

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