Page 104 of Made for Sinners

“Did someone touch you?” I asked, my voice dropping to something darker, something lethal. “Did someone say something to you?”

Her eyes snapped to mine, startled. “No—Dante, no one hurt me.”

I didn’t believe her. Not yet. Not until I saw her whole. Not until I knew exactly what the fuck had her looking like she’d just seen a ghost.

“Then what?” I demanded, already scanning the room, looking for threats. My hand tightened at the small of her back, steering her through the crowd, away from the stage, away from the stares, toward the edge of the ballroom where the shadows were thicker and the noise thinned.

She hesitated, her heels clicking unevenly against the marble as I guided her. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and I could see the war happening behind her eyes—whatever she was about to tell me, it wasn’t easy.

“It’s the man in the photo,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “The one in the hallway at the estate. The one the servant said was Matteo.”

I stopped walking.

The ballroom noise swelled around us—laughter, clinking glasses, the hollow echo of too many people pretending to care about charity—but all of it faded beneath the pounding of my pulse.

“What about him?” I asked, my voice low and tight.

She looked up at me, her eyes wide, glassy. “It’s not Matteo.”

I stared at her. “What do you mean it’s not Matteo?”

“I mean the servant was wrong,” she said, her voice gaining strength now, like she’d been holding this in too long and it was finally clawing its way out. “I recognized him. Not from the estate. From the album. From my father’s office. He was there the day I was given the wrong paperwork.”

I felt my stomach drop.

Not in fear.

In rage.

Because I knew what she meant. I knew exactly what she was saying. And I didn’t want to believe it.

But then?—

“Emilia,” a voice called out behind us, smooth and familiar.

I turned.

Rocco.

Of course.

His smile was easy, charming even, but his eyes—his eyes were too focused on her. Too knowing. Like he’d been watching her for longer than I liked.

“There you are,” he said, stepping closer. “I was looking for you. Wanted to introduce you to a few people.”

He reached out, casually, like he had every right to touch her.

I stepped between them.

“Not tonight,” I said, my voice flat, final.

Rocco’s hand paused mid-air, then lowered slowly. His smile didn’t falter, but I saw the flicker of something behind it. Annoyance. Maybe something darker.

“She looked a little lost,” he said, his gaze flicking past me to Emilia. “Thought I’d help.”

“She’s not lost,” I said, my tone like ice. “She was with me.”

Rocco’s smile didn’t falter, but it thinned at the edges, like it was hanging on by a thread. “Of course.”

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