Page 119 of Made for Sinners

Then I sighed and leaned back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers.

“It’s Rocco,” I said finally.

Adrianna’s brows lifted. “Dante’s cousin?”

I nodded. “He’s the one who took the money.”

She blinked. “Wait—what?”

I told her everything. The photo in the hallway. The album. The memory of him in my father’s office, standing in the corner like he didn’t exist. The way he’d looked at me at the gala, like he knew I’d figured it out.

Adrianna didn’t interrupt. She just listened, her expression shifting from confusion to alarm to something sharper.

When I was done, she exhaled slowly. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

I paused, then nodded. “I think so. It’s just a lot.”

She was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward and refilled both our glasses. “Well, if you’re going to be dragged into a mafia conspiracy, at least you’re doing it in a penthouse with good wine.”

I laughed, grateful for her ability to make even this feel manageable. “You’re not wrong.”

We drank in silence for a while, the weight of everything I’d said settling between us like smoke.

Then she nudged me with her foot. “So. Speaking of your terrifying, morally ambiguous husband…”

I raised a brow. “What about him?”

She grinned. “You gonna tell me what it’s like?”

I blinked. “What what’s like?”

She gave me a look. “Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I mean.”

I flushed, but the wine had loosened my tongue enough that I didn’t deny it.

“It’s…” I trailed off, searching for the right word. “Intense.”

Adrianna leaned in, eyes wide. “Go on.”

I took another sip of wine. “He’s… very in control. Like, he always knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. And he doesn’t ask. He just takes.”

Her eyes sparkled. “And you like that?”

I bit my lip, then nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

She let out a low whistle. “Damn. You’re living the fantasy.”

I laughed. “You’re married to a mafia man too. Don’t act like you don’t know.”

She waved a hand. “Please. Mine’s a sweetheart. Yours looks like he’s two seconds from breaking someone’s kneecaps and then carrying you to bed.”

I grinned, warmth blooming in my chest. “Yeah. That’s pretty accurate.”

We spent the next hour gossiping, drinking, and laughing until our stomachs hurt. Adrianna told me about her latest family drama—how her husband’s uncle had tried to smuggle a rare parrot through customs—and I told her about the time Dante tried to cook breakfast and nearly burned the penthouse down. For a little while, it felt like things were normal.

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