Page 134 of Made for Sinners

I tilted my head, letting it rest against his shoulder. “You killed your cousin.”

“He betrayed me,” he said simply. “He betrayed you.”

He didn’t flinch. “Would you rather I let him live?”

“No,” I said. “But I would’ve liked a warning.”

His eyes darkened. “You had one. I told you this would end tonight.”

I looked away, my gaze falling to the floor. “I didn’t think you meant it literally.”

He reached up, cupping my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes. “I always mean it literally.”

I exhaled slowly, my body still humming with adrenaline and wine and something darker—something that felt like power and grief and satisfaction all tangled together.

“I’m not sure what scares me more,” I whispered. “That you did it. Or that I’m glad you did.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing mine. “You’re not scared of me, Emilia.”

“No,” I said. “I’m scared of what I’m becoming.”

He kissed me—slow, deep, and unapologetically possessive. Like he was reasserting his claim. Like he needed me to remember exactly who I belonged to.

And I didn’t stop him.

Because I already knew.

I was his.

Wholly.

Unquestionably.

And I couldn’t tell if that made me powerful… or just marked.

Maybe both.

Later, when the guests had gone and the house was quiet again, I found myself back in the kitchen, barefoot and in one of Dante’s shirts, the diamond necklace still hanging around my neck like a promise I hadn’t made.

I stood at the counter, staring at the fridge, debating whether it was too late for another glass of wine.

Behind me, I heard him enter.

I didn’t turn.

“You’re still awake,” he said.

“So are you.”

He crossed the room, his presence a slow-moving storm. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Guilt?” I asked, reaching for the wine.

He stepped behind me, his hands sliding around my waist. “Satisfaction.”

I poured the wine, took a sip, and leaned back against him. “You’re a monster.”

“I never claimed otherwise.”

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